


Maze of Sparks

by missmaryr (mbmatthews1)



Series: The Rebuilding of Cybertron [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Non-Canon Relationship, Non-Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2853215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mbmatthews1/pseuds/missmaryr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war ended in a way no one expected, and now the rebuilding begins. How will this society begin to rebuild itself?  Will become more mature in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hoist

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to a story called Dance of Sparks which needs to be rewritten. I am writing these both to get the plot bunnies off my oversized rear end, and to build the world for the rewrite. I have not posted Dance of Sparks here and will not until I have the background set better in my brain.

A New Kind of Strife

Hoist looked over at the huddle of mechs as he waited to be unloaded. The two large Constructicons frowned over datapads, as Grapple looked across the ruined street with a worried note in his field.   Much of Kaon suffered unstable areas, and reports said one sat this street of  buildings Lord Protector Megatron wanted to restore. Hoist, who knew the architect well, thought Grapple was pinging the other two.  Not far away, a work team of mixed Autobots and grunt Decepticons worked to clear rubble from a destroyed building.  Hoist craned to see what had his close friend so worried.

“Move up, mech!” one of the supervisors yelled. “We need those supplies!”

Hoist moved up, to the mumbled cursing of the supervisor. The Decepticon drew back a pede and Hoist braced for the kick, but the rebuke felt mild, no worse than a hard slap of the back, as the grunts started to unload the supplies. Hoist considered briefly that the supervisor held back due to Hoist being the field medic; the news that the Autobot medic replaced Hook as the one dealing with minor and emergency repairs for half of each day met with sparkfelt relief with the Decepticons as much as the Autobots. Still, he looked over and saw Grapple grab Hook’s arm. Hook looked down and shook the hand off but did not knock the Autobot to the ground. Grapple pointed at the wall, gesturing, and Hoist looked where he pointed.

One of the walls started to lean. Hoist saw some of the crew backing away.  Part of the top crumbled, revealing internal rust. The work crew ran in the only direction they could, toward the supply dump.         The wall fell behind them, catching the supervisor and two of the crew. Then the ground underneath them fell in.  The sinkhole swallowed Hook and Scrapper. Grapple managed to hold on to the edge.

As one, Hoist, Hauler and Erector dumped their loads and headed for him, Hoist still in alt mode. He threw out his hook and the others guided it to Grapple, hauling him out shaken but not badly hurt. “Scrapper’s awake but leaking,” the Autobot panted. “Hook got a bad blow to the processor. I could hear some of the Autobots yelling for help.” Hoist let his hook down again and with Erector managed to get the Constructicons to a stable ledge just as  Long Haul screeched up with Skywarp.  “We’ve got you set up,” he said briefly. “Get over there.” Hauler grabbed the hooks they brought and shot his hands down to Scrapper.  Hoist transformed and got Grapple to the unit, but the architect only endured a few scratches and dents. When Hauler showed up with Hook, followed by Long Haul with Scrapper, Grapple stayed and followed Hoist’s orders.

  The deeper in the hole the victims were, the worse the injuries.  One mech deactivated under his servos just as Long Haul showed up in alt form. “Last one living is in back,” the Constructicon said briefly. Hoist climbed in and started work in the back of Long Haul’s alt form. Once there, he scrubbed off his arms and started working. Glit came in, saw him, and sent a databurst with directions to the medical supplies before he started work on the next victim.

Soundwave appeared shortly after they stabilized the last patient with Hook in tow. While the Decepticon Communications officer took his cassette to first med-bay washrack, he sent Hoist to the one normally used for patients.  He told the exhausted Hoist, “Wash, get cube, find berth. Remain in medbay until escorted elsewhere. Hook able to stand watch. ” Hoist bowed his head in acceptance and gratitude.

He leaned against the wall in the warm spray from the washrack, watching dully as the dust and energon made muddy swirling colors before they drained away. He needed to scrub at what remained. He felt drained, so tired that lifting his arm took concentration and effort. Distantly, he knew he needed energon, but that felt like too much effort, too.  After working all day hauling material to the various construction projects and then working frantically to repair the mechs hurt in the accident, his tank sat empty and every servo he owned ached. 

 There was enough energon to go around; they always got enough fuel to get their work done and get from orn to orn but the Autobots got the last and lowest grade.  Life for them on Cybertron tended that way- enough, but only enough to keep them alive, in decent health, and working. 

He heard footsteps approaching and turned to see Long Haul approaching. He held a cube in his servo.  Hoist accepted the offer. He felt a little better as his tank filled.  Long Haul cleaned up as the medic drank. Then the Constructicon picked up a polishing cloth and started on Hoist, getting off the more stubborn dirt and the dried energon.   Hoist relaxed into the comfort. “I don’ know whether to thank you for helping my brothers,” Long Haul said as he worked, “or knock you into the next vorn for endangering one of the few medic’s we’ve got.”

Now that the fuel seeped into his systems, Hoist felt his charge start to rise. “Show me I’m alive,” he said, his vocalizer spitting a little static. “I had two mechs die on me.  More deaths after we hoped the war was over. Please. Show me I’m alive.”   Now that the crisis was over, the aftermath began to hit. He needed an overload, or his recharge cycle would play those deaths on him over and over.  He used to go to his friends after patching up the casualties, but only Primus knew where they were and Long Haul was right here.

The Constructicon spooled out a plug and brushed against Hoist’s port. He popped it open. Soon after both of them shuddered in release. Long Haul turned off the solvent and started the dryer. He had to hold Hoist up, and when the dryer stopped, he picked the medic up and carried him to an empty medbay berth. Hoist fell gratefully into recharge.

He powered on sometime later, alert but wondering what brought him out of recharge.  An alarm beeped somewhere. He dragged his chassis out of the exam table and headed for it.  Coming around the corner, he winced and hurried as Huffer flailed at the Constructicon, who was trying to keep him on the berth.  “Huffer!” he called. “Settle down!!” Hook backed off. Huffer took a bad blow to the processor in addition to several bad tears in his lower legs. “You’re going to open those welds and I’ll only have to do them again.”

“I saw Hook. He’s going to kill us both!” Huffer’s optics looked wild.

“Then he and the other Constructicons would have to do all the work,” Hoist said as he pushed Huffer back to the berth and began to examine the welds. “War’s over, remember?” The welds still held, though one looked weak.  Huffer’s optics cleared a little.

“I won’t kill you but I’ll strap you to that berth if I have to reweld those tears,” Hook huffed. Hoist heard the clicks as Huffer’s weapons tried to appear. None of the Autobots possessed any weapons transformations now.  Huffer lay back, wary but calm. Already worn by his injuries, the effort he expended trying to fight Hook off sent him into recharge shortly.  “Go back to berth,” Hook ordered. "I just needed a reboot, remember? I can handle a shift." Then, grudgingly, "I'll call you if I need you." He went to sit by a berth. Hoist noticed Grappler lay on the berth, deep in recharge. Hoist trudged back, but recharge came slowly as his processor ran over the question all of the Autobots asked each other after hours. What happened to the Decepticons?

Ever since Optimus Prime disappeared on Cybertron and Skyfire blew to pieces just outside of Earth’s atmosphere with most of the Autobot leadership aboard, the Decepticons swept most of the remaining Autobots up and brought them to Cybertron. To their shock, there was life in the ruins now. He and the other Autobots worked on rebuilding Kaon, along with the lower level Decepticon grunts.  Rumor said that some Decepticons worked on Iacon, but no Autobots worked there. 

                 At first all the Autobots worked the harsher, dirtier jobs, but lack of trained personnel meant that the Constructicons grabbed any with usable skills, regardless of faction.  Scrapper pulled Grapple and Hook pulled Hoist from the work crews as soon as they recognized the Autobots. So Hoist worked with other Autobots with construction skills, while his close friend Grapple worked with Hook and Scrapper on the building plans. Nor were they the only ones; as long as an Autobot possessed a needed  skill,  Decepticon supervisors grabbed them from the work crews, which resulted in Hoist working to haul supplies in the beginning of his shift and patching  up anyone who needed it, and sent the worst cases to the med-bay in the central buildings in the afternoon. Lang Haul and Hook cooperated in making sure he was available for emergencies.   

On occasion, a Decepticon showed up at the end of shift or at the barracks with the offer of a cube and a change of scene.  Since the Autobots still got their normal energon ration, it enabled the chosen and willing Autobots to build some reserves and share with others.  The Decepticons tended to single out preferred partners, meaning that Hoist spent some free time with his part-time supervisor. They turned out to be surprisingly pleasant joors. Long Haul liked interfacing in the washracks, and the Autobots got few chances to clean up.  A mech did not have to be clean to work, which made the medic curse at times.

                Hoist and his friends spent some time speculating over what happened to the Decepticons.  During their capture and transport to Cybertron, there was no rape, no torture, and few beating.  In all the vorns- five now- they spent on Cybertron, there was one attempted rape. Scrapper took the grunt into custody and they never saw him again.  Cliffjumper and the rest of the Autobots spent the next few days in shock.  For the first time, they found some hope their lives might improve, but the question still ran through their minds.  What happened to the Decepticons?

                It rivaled the two other burning questions- what happened to the second Ark, and what happened to Optimus Prime?

                The second time he cycled out of recharge, he heard voices. He rolled out of the berth and checked his chronometer.  Habit pulled him out of recharge, as first shift was beginning. He headed for the medbay to check on his patients, wondering what they intended to do about the worksite now.

                He stopped at the entrance and stared in shock, just barely managing not to glitch. The mech he saw looked like Opitimus Prime, and felt similar. But this mech stood and bulked somewhat smaller, about the size of a Seeker. He radiated calm like Optimus, but not the same kind of calm.  He stopped and spoke quietly to each of the patients, listening to them for several moments and laying a servo on them briefly.  The Autobots patients looked at him in shock but when he stepped away their fields felt peaceful. The Decepticons accepted his presence with an awed and grateful sense to their fields.

                The mech walked up to Hoist and looked at him closely. “Hoist,” he said slowly. “Are you here as medic or patient?” He placed a servo on Hoist, and in that moment, Hoist felt a power that had nothing to do with strength of arms and everything to do with a Prime. “Optimus,” he said, his vocalizer whining, “We thought –but what-“

                Optimus looked down at him gravely but Hoist felt a small touch of amusement. “Let me see what happened to you, and I will explain,” he said kindly. Hoist intended to offer his port, but felt the Prime nudge his comm instead. The medic opened up completely. Memories tumbled through his mind. Remembering the explosion, and his grief; remembering his fear and then bewilderment as the Decepticons rounded them up but treated them decently. Remembered Cliffjumper’s experience. Remembered in detail the events of the orn before.  Optimus coaxed him back and reviewed Autobot treatment.  Then he accepted an information dump and stood dazed as the servo left his shoulder.

                Before he could access the memory, he heard a keen and woke to the present. He hurried to the patient, a Decepticon with a badly broken strut.  He tended that one and turned to find the Prime and another, larger mech facing him. His spark pulsed faster as the leader of the Decepticons said, “Lord Prime, why does the Chosen of Primus waste his time here?”

                Lord Protector Megatron looked down at the Prime. He stood about a head taller than Optimus now, with all the weapons and strength he ever had. Actually, he looked better- polished, confident, and in charge.  Still, Hoist did not hear the note of sarcasm he expected in the Decepticon leader, and was that a note of-unease?

                “Lord Protector,” the Prime said coolly, and Hoist marveled.  Not only did Optimus show no fear at all, he stood and faced up to the Lord Protector as though he ruled Cybertron, and not Megatron.  “I heard of the incident and came to offer my support. “ His voice chilled as he added, “I should not need to visit the medbay for such information. Should I not have noticed the need for extra medical supplies, I might have missed the incident altogether.”  He crossed his arms. “Which leads me to wonder what other information my Lord Protector chooses not to bother me with.”

                “This was an accident,”  Lord Megatron informed Optimus stiffly.

                “I agree,” Optimus said. “But I also discovered that you are not treating the workers equally. Those with equal skills to rebuild as your Constructicons remain in inferior positions. Not only that, but my former followers must cooperate with Decepticons to gain the better fuel.  We agreed before Primus to ensure that all Cybertronians are treated well. We agreed we would see that the abuses you and I endured would not repeat.”

                “I have ensured it! The Autobots have shelter, fuel, medical care when they need it,  reasonable shifts. That's more than I had!“

                “The lowest grade of fuel, crowded barracks, no access to washracks unless given by a Decepticon partner, medical care when a supervisor believes they can spare them or they cannot work, the hardest and dirtiest of jobs,” Optimus countered.  "This despite many with skills which should ensure them a position enjoyed by your Decepticon supervisors, not your grunts. And even among your former followers, it is not ability but favoritism at work." His voice hardened. “You keep your word as well as a Senator bought by a noble, Lord Protector. How is this not building the same society that failed us both, with you as the tyrant?”

                Megatron stood silent. Eventually he said, “We will discuss this later. I need you back in the office. You know how inadequate I am at these administrative tasks you do so well.”

                “I will complete my tour and we will discuss this when I have the information I require.” Optimus’ voice swelled and echoed without rising in volume and pitch. “I will hold you to your oath, Lord Protector.  I gave up my right to arms so that Primus could extinguish Unicron’s foul mark on your spark and processor for that oath, and I intend to see it honored!”

                That voice echoed through Hoist.  Lord Protector Megatron bowed his head and vented. “I will honor my oath,” he said, and added, “How can I not? We knew nothing of how the Fallen played us, until you freed us.”

                Optimus vented and seemed to diminish just a little. "There are so few of us left." His shoulder struts dropped and his optics saddened. I made my choice, brother of my spark. I do not wish to regret it.” 

                “You will not, brother,” Lord Megatron said, and together they walked away.  Hoist gazed after them, shocked. Then another patient whimpered, and he came out of his bemusement to get back to work.

               

               

                               

 

 

                 

                 

 


	2. Maze of Sparks Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Seekers try to keep the Autobot fliers isolated, but Skydive manages to get information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are worldbuilding stories for a fanfic I want to rewrite.

Maze of Sparks, Chapter two    

 The flier landed and walked over to the supplies. This was the fourth tower they worked on this vorn, rebuilding the communications in Kaon.  Skydive enjoyed the chance to see his fellow Autobots for a change; usually he, Fireflight, Silverbolt, and Powerglide ferried supplies under the supervision of Dirge and Thundercracker. Blacklight, the supervisor, started to stroll up as the Autobot flier exchanged some casual greetings with the other Autobots.  Clearly the someone gave orders to the supervisor  regarding Skydive interacting with the work team Autobots, but this time the Decepticon supervisor got distracted when a turbofox shot past from under a nearby ruin.  “Hey, ‘Dive,” Huffer said as they worked, “have those Seekers been treating you right?”

“They treat us like little kids,” Skydive complained, “but other than that, we’re okay. They keep a close optic on us, though. You guys?”   The sound of a shot and a shout of triumph told them their time was short.  Skydive unloaded the last of the supports and Huffer transformed.

“Better than I ever expected, but not great,” Huffer said. “Here, look at this later,” and sent him an information file. Skydive stored it as the supervisor came back and called for him to help hold the supports while the crew welded them in.  The young flier noticed that Blackrock considered Huffer’s advice if the construction engineer gave it. After a time, Skydive realized that while Blackrock supervised the workers, Huffer directed the work flow.

 At the end of the shift, Rewind trotted over. “Soundwave said for you to come with us and have a cube,” he relayed.

Skydive heaved a heavy vent. “Okay.”  They walked to over to the two communications specialists. Soon after, Soundwave led the way into the rec room of the construction headquarters, and handed out cubes. The flier sipped. He hoped to bunk with the Autobots tonight. He should have known better.  Ever since they came to Cybertron, the Seekers never left them with grounders long enough to talk for any length of time. Huffer and the others noticed.  Hence the information dump sitting in his processor.

 All the Aerielbots agreed that their supervising Seekers turned out to be good mentors, strict but fair and often kind. They loved the end of the war and relished the idea of a rebuilt Cybertron.  The Autobot fliers bunked in a section of the Seeker’s hangar.   Frequently one of the Seekers took the Aerialbots on flights after their shifts ended and talked longingly about their hopes to revive Vos sometime in the future.  Starscream assigned all of them to mentors except Powerglide, who had separate quarters. But they treated him decently as well, though without the consideration the younger fliers received.

After their capture, they all assumed that consideration came from the loss of their brothers.  Air Raid and Slingshot flanked Skyfire when he launched; Silverbolt, Fireflight and Skydive started to launch behind them when the Decepticons opened a bridge on the tarmac.  The three fliers fought a rearguard action, as Skyfire managed to break atmosphere and into space.  The shuttle carried his full capacity in mechs, including most of the remaining Autobot leaders.

Skydive would never forget how Slingshot and Air Raid screamed, before their presence in his processor simply went blank. Over the com he heard yells about an explosion.  Even now, he remembered nothing of the next several orns. Powerglide told them later that they fought, got captured, and put into stasis for the trip to Cybertron.  He knew someone pulled him out of stasis, but he felt too much pain to care. He did nothing, said nothing. Not even Silverbolt’s grief-filled rant at Starscream mattered. Then Starscream said something about not killing them and something about brothers. The screaming stopped. Silverbolt reached for Fireflight and Skydive, using the gestalt bond to pull at them.

 Within that pull, they felt not three bonds, but all five. The other two felt impossibly far away, but the pull existed.  That yanked the attention of the other two out of their mourning. Seeing them stir, Gilt hurried over. Not long after, Dirge and Thundercracker came for them.

For five vorns Dirge, Thundercracker, and Starscream monitored them constantly.  Every delivery made included a flying lesson; every long trip meant a lesson in the history of Vos and in between the Seekers gave lessons in air protocol.  All of them worked until they refueled and fell into their berths at the end of their shifts, until Kaon began to resemble a city and not a mass of ruins.  Sometimes they tried to talk to their grounder friends, but rarely got in more than greetings before being interrupted.

Skydive knew that Lord Protector Megatron ordered that Iacon and Kaon be restored first, with Kaon being the primary push.  He noticed that other Seekers, not the mentors, worked in Iacon.  Their teams occasionally went to some of the  smaller abandoned towns to scavenge building materials, but they spent very little time in these areas. The loads sat ready when they arrived, and they left as soon as they were loaded.  “Don’t wander off alone,” Dirge warned them.  “These places aren’t safe.”

“Give us back our weapons,” Powerglide said, but only got a nasty look.

Eventually the shifts eased and gave all of them some free time.  Public buildings neared completion. Once Dirge landed near a set of buildings when on a pleasure flight with Skydive and Fireflight. They walked through a few tall buildings with large balconies, big enough to use for flight.  “These were built to imitate the Towers that the nobles lived in,” he said as the younger fliers marveled over the space.  “See the murals?” Skydive gazed at them, impressed. Ruined, they still looked beautiful.  “Sunstreaker’s work. He was an artist once. His fields flared with amusement over their curiosity and wonder. “You never saw how beautiful Cybertron was,” he said softly. “But we’ll make it beautiful again, some orn.”

 More than the younger fliers, Powerglide chaffed under the restrictions.   One orn  Dirge took them to help ferry scavenged material. While he argued with Hook over something, Powerglide sent a private com to Skydive, “I saw some mechs a few streets over.  I’m going to try to find out what’s going on.”

“They won and we’re at peace,” Skydive reminded him. Powerglide only made a rude noise. “And we aren’t in Kaon. You know how they keep warning us not to wander off. Besides, there’s only Decepticons in this work crew.” He noticed that and wondered; usually work crews included both factions with Autobots and grunt Decepticons doing the hardest work.

“They’re only trying to keep us in line. There might still be some resistance here. And I can fly away from any danger. ” Skydive shut up.  He wondered at the change in the Seekers as well but all the Aerialbots worried over their grounder friends. The glimpses they got told them nothing of how the others got treated.  Was so bad that they left, even in the face of energon starvation and the threat of what wildlife was left on Cybertron? He watched as Powerglide took off.

The screams started less than a quarter joor later. Skydive took off in that directions. Dirge commed him to come back. Skydive ignored him, too shocked by the sight of several mechs hunched over Powerglide.  Automatically he tried to bring up his weapon, to the sound of clicks. He shot up in time to avoid the rocks flying at him.  Shots rang out beneath him. “Stay up and out of range,” Dirge told him, fury and worry in his com. This time Skydive listened.  He circled as Dirge and the work crew drove the crazed mechs off long enough to rescue Powerglide. Skywarp popped in and took a badly shaken and leaking Powerglide to the med-bay.

A furious Dirge hauled Shydive on their original mission to pick up a load of scavenged building material. When he cooled down enough, he explained, “Those are Empties, unallied mechs left on Cybertron.  Those were pretty far gone, starving for a long time.” True to Lord Megatron’s rebuilding ambitions, special teams dealt with Empties as their energon stores allowed, but it was a slow process. They did find a few medics, which helped. Once decently refueled and repaired, the neutrals joined work crews in Iacon.

“If you want to know how the grounders are doing, you can work with Soundwave in getting the communication towers up,” Starscream informed him, in a tone that said this was a punishment detail. “No flight outside what’s needed to get the job done.” Sound wave would monitor his obedience. As he finished his cube, Skydive decided that the relief of seeing his friends were OK made up for the flight restrictions.     

Blaster roused enough to talk about the project for a time.  The Aerialbot  worried about the Autobot carrier. He looked apathetic, though he got his work done. Skydive noticed that Soundwave seemed to be keeping Blaster away from other Autobots the same way the Seekers kept him from grounders.   

Then Soundwave shocked him. “Youngling.” Skydive looked at him, somewhat annoyed. He fought these soldiers in a war and they certainly shot at him! Why did they treat him like a human teenager now? “You were in contact with brothers at last battle?” Silverbolt nodded, puzzled. “Are you certain brothers deactivated?

“What?” He looked at the sound engineer and telepath in honest shock. “What are you talking about?”  How could Soundwave know about their brothers?

“Reports of witnesses state that shuttle Skyfire struck asteroid, exploded. Pieces of metal, rock found at site. Investigation complete, no Decepticon fired on shuttle. Decepticon wish to talk, not destroy. Hoped to bring shuttle to Cybertron, to speak to Prime and Lord Protector.” He paused and looked expectantly at Blaster.

“I was there during the interrogations,” Blaster said. “None of the Decepticons in space fired on Skyfire. “

Skydive barely heard him. “Wait, wait, wait. You said Prime. What Prime?”

“Starscream never told you?” Blaster said, anger rising in his field.

Soundwave placed a hand on his counterpart’s shoulder. “Decepticons told not to speak to Autobots,” he reminded Blaster.  Skydive felt his own anger rise. “This, agreed between Optimus Prime and Lord Protector Megatron. Better to wait, allow Autobots to assimilate change in Decepticons,  lessen stress between factions. Prime judged end to silence at time of last incident.”  

“They told us about the incident,” Skydive said, “but not about the Prime.” He let his resentment show.

 Blaster vented but the anger faded. “Shockwave let something come through that was going to destroy Cybertron first and the rest of the universe second.  That’s why Optimus Prime and Lord Megatron bolted here. “His voice dropped. “Optimus- he somehow woke Primus.”  The Aerialbot felt the awe in his field, and Soundwave’s. “He gave up the Matrix of Leadership and took the Matrix of Purification instead.”

“Decepticons, tainted by Unicron,” Soundwave said. “We knew nothing of the taint until gone. “

“But he paid a high price for it,” Blaster said. “Primus required them both to stop the war and rebuild. Optimus gave up the right to bears arms. He’s still a Prime. Even more now, he speaks for Primus. “

Skydive tried to process the information.  So much made sense now, and hope bloomed in his spark. He looked up to Soundwave’s sharp gaze. “What happened to the Matrix of Leadership?” he asked, trying to distract the telepath from his chaotic hopes.

 “Come.” He led Skydive outside, held Blaster close to him, and flew off. The flier followed, still dazed. They flew for some time, in a direction away from the other construction. They landed on a completely restored building standing in the middle of a section of Kaon and stepped in. Soundwave put Blaster down. Skydive looked around him in wonder. “Temple of Primus,” Soundwave said simply. He stopped and stood still. Skydive shuttered his optics and let the peace of the room fill him.

A gentle touch brought him out of his trance. He looked up to see Optimus standing in front of him. The Prime stood smaller now.  “Skydive,” Optimus said, “Soundwave believes you have information I need. May I?” He held out a hand. Skydive nodded and opened a dataport, but Optimus only laid a hand on his shoulder.

Memories swirled through his processor of that horrific day of defeat, then the brief glimpses that hinted at his brother’s continued existence. Then the Aerialbot returned to the present. Optimus gripped his arm and led him into another room, waving at Soundwave to stay in the outer temple. “You give me hope,” the Prime said quietly. “Blaster sometimes feels something from one of his symbionts as well.”

“Are- are all of them alive?” Skydive dared to ask. “Skyfire got away?”

“Not all of them,” the Prime said. “Blaster lost one of his symbiotes. They have another mission. One of them carries the Matrix of Leadership now, while we rebuild Cybertron until they can rejoin us.” He paused as Skydive tried to guess who got the Matrix.  “Soundwave knows. Megatron does not.  Do not tell your brothers unless they guess the truth. “

“I won’t,” Skydive promised.  He added wistfully, “I wish I could stay here. It’s so peaceful.”

He felt a rueful agreement in Prime’s field. “I wish I could stay as well. I do come when I can. But Megatron is hopeless at all the administrative detail needed to run the rebuilding. “His field became serious. “Primus gave me the means to purge Unicron from the Decepticons, and enabled all of us to end the war,” he said, “But this did not purge who they are. Remember that, young one.”

“I will remember,” Skydive promised.

 "Now I have a request. Will you act as a witness for me?” Skydive nodded. “Wait here.” He walked to the door and summoned a mech, who left. Soon after, Skydive saw several couples  gather in the lobby outside the door: Blaster with Soundwave, Grappler with Hook, and Bluestreak with a seeker Skywarp knew as Flightspeed.

 “I will speak with Blaster first,” Optimus said. Blaster walked in. Soundwave looked after him anxiously. “Skydive, I ask that you listen and record.”  Then he turned to Blaster and placed his servos on the symbiote master’s shoulders.

 “Blaster, I have brought you here because you expressed a concern regarding being one of the last of your kind.” Blaster nodded. “As you know, Vector Sigma was destroyed. However, the Temple records here reveal there is a means within us to reproduce our kind.   However, there are grave risks associated with this method, which is called budding.  Once Primus gave all of us the programming to bud, until he became satisfied with our numbers and erased the program. Thereafter, sparks were given by Vector Sigma, in the manner in which we became accustomed. “  

 Skydive listened with dawning astonishment. There was a means to reproduce? Like organics did? Blaster showed no surprise, and only nodded. “How will this work?”

  “There is an ancient program called the Oracle which Vector Sigma replaced. It can reformat mechs for reproduction. It reads the mech with three results. One, it can refuse to do any reprogramming at all. Two, it can provide programming to sire a sparkling. Three, it can download the ability to bud a sparkling. All mechs who can bud can also sire a sparkling, but one programed to sire cannot bud a sparkling.”

  Skydive listened in fascination. While he never discussed the matter with his brothers, he did sometimes worry about how they would continue their own kind. But how did a mech initiate the programming?

Blaster asked the same question. “After being reprogramed, two mechs with the reproduction programming must engage in a spark merge following an overload,” Prime explained. “At that time, a sparkling grows within the mech’s chest compartment, and emerges when ready, if all goes well. “ He paused, becoming somber before detailing the possible dangers, concluding with, “Mech have died budding. This is rare. But it does occur.”

  Soundwave came in separately. “Aware of budding program,” he stated. “Offspring became unstable after few generations.  How different?” 

   “In the old budding system,” the Prime stated, “the budding came from one spark. The offspring were fully formed and able to function as adults, much as a mech prebuilt, preprogrammed, and   granted a spark. In this new system, an overload and a spark sharing are required, and the creator buds a sparkling and not an adult.”

 “Not like spark split,” Soundwave said, his field swelling with longing. “Giving part of self to new being, but not symbiote. Risk, acceptable,” he stated and went back to the lobby. Skydive marveled at his reaction and wondered where his symbiotes were.

 “Carrying so many symbiotes is a strain for him,” Prime said softly. “Before the war, symbiote carriers cared only for their own creations. Most of Soundwave’s were not his, but orphaned.”

Skydive wondered at Bluestreak’s silence, until he spoke. His voice was harsh and scratchy.  “It’s worth the risk,” the former sniper whispered. “I might be the only one of my kind left. “ Optimus hugged him tightly. The flier caught Bluestreak’s optic and touched his own vocalizer, expanding his field to show his worry. “One of the guards couldn’t stand my constant talking,” Bluestreak said. “He tore out my vocalizer.“

“And will never be allowed such responsibility again,” the Prime stated, his field harsh and unyielding. “He will work in a crew with the neutrals, since he chooses to behave as they do, without the excuse of prolonged energon deprivation. Such behavior will no longer be tolerated. We must rebuild Cybertron and our society.” He touched Bluestreak’s vocalizer gently.

 “I don’t need to talk so much anymore,” Bluestreak said.  “I don’t have to kill. My prewar skills are needed. “  He left, to be replaced by the Seeker.  To all the mechs in the lobby, separately, the Prime detailed the same information. All of them accepted the risk. When the last left, Optimus said, “I thank you for your assistance. I needed someone who was not biased and unable to participate.”

“Why not?” Skydive asked. 

 “A spark must be fully developed. You have a few vorns before you or any of your brothers can safely bud.  ” He paused. “Review the information Huffer gave you. It will explain much.”

 Back in the lobby, Flightspeed told Soundwave, “I’ll escort the youngling back. “ They said nothing on the flight back, both absorbed with their thoughts. As soon as Skydive made it back to the base, he headed for his brother’s quarters, consulting his gestalt link to see where they were. To his relief, both walked through another building with their mentors.  He settled on his berth and opened the information dump.

 Some of the information he already knew- about the incident where several mechs of both factions got killed, and how Prime was still alive. Some he did not- the story of the assault on Cliffjumper and the result. The confrontation between the Prime and his Protector surprised him, but it was the behavior of the Decepticons that concerned him more. He got up, walked to the hanger, and made the short flight to the roof. There he focused inward.

Some time later, a shout and a servo on his shoulder brought him out of his meditation. “That bored?” Dirge asked, amusement and some kind of excitement in his field.  Behind him Fireflight and Silverbolt laughed.

“We found something that concentrates energon,” Fireflight said. “Dirge said if Starscream could fix it maybe we can make energon goodies.”  He sounded wistful and slightly sad. Ratchet used to give them goodies, but Ratchet, like so many of their high command, was on Skyfire.

“It’s going to be a long orn tomorrow,” Dirge told all of them. “Head for your berths.” He herded them into their quarters and left.

“Wonder what’s got him so excited?” Silverbolt wondered. He looked at Skydive. “We haven’t been to the washracks yet,” he added abruptly, and led the way.  The solvent started, they gathered close as Skydive shared the revelations of the day, holding out only that Skyfire and his passengers survived.  He felt their combined relief and resentment that Prime still functioned, their surprise and sorrow at his sacrifice, and their wonder at the purging.  “That explains the changes in their attitude,” Silverbolt observed. “I remember that Prowl once told me that Seekers have a strong tendency to protect the young.  If we’re still too young to bud, I can see why they still call us younglings.” He grimaced. “Wonder if they’ll ease up when they have the chance to have little Seekers of their own. “ He motioned for Skydive to turn and began cleaning his wings. Skydive did the same for Fireflight. 

 “Think about it,” Fireflight said, “if you had to choose who would create and who would sire, who would you pick? Decepticons or us?”

 “Carriers can die,” Skydive reminded them. “So if you were someone like Starscream, and you wanted sparklings but didn’t want to risk yourself carrying- what would you do?”

               

               

 

 

               

                


	3. Maze of Sparks, Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus muses, remembers, and worries.

Optimus stood before the chapel and meditated, letting his processor wander and savoring the feeling of peace and privacy. The rebuilding of Cybertron and the demands of his Lord Protector gave him scant moments like this one. Megatron preferred that his Prime remain where he could be protected- and watched. Slipping away unseen grew more and more difficult. 

He remembered the first time he stood here.  Remembering how he flew off from a blow and wandered for some time before his processor cleared and he stood before this door. Remembering how he felt compelled to walk through.

The presence within swept him into itself. He knew it, served it, and yet never understood until then. It noticed the Fallen, who still battled a stubborn, terribly battered group, Decepticons and Autobots alike. How that presence annihilated their terrible foe with just one gesture. He communed with the presence.No words existed in any vocabulary that described his experience.   He knew that the presence looked deeply into him, and he felt shame and pride.  It reached not only into him, but into the others, and offered them choices. Soon after he looked around and discovered that he stood outside the door, fully repaired, and with the information he needed in his processor. 

He remembered finding the rest of the fighters.  They lay stunned. He rushed up and turned over the first mech, who turned out to be Megatron.  To his shock, the Decepticon leader showed no signs of the intense fighting, though Optimus distinctly remembered seeing three leaking wounds in Megatron before his own abrupt departure from the fight.  He raced from one mech to the next. There were no exceptions- either full repaired but stunned, or dead. The presence gave the worst wounded the choice to peace in the Well of Sparks or to dedicate their lives to Cybertron’s renewal.

Megatron stirred and Optimus approached him cautiously.  Helms appeared around the battlefield. One of the more desperate mechs approached Grimlock’s deactivated chassis. Megatron surged up and fired-above the Emptie’s head. The helms disappeared rapidly.  Optimus tried to produce a weapon, only to discover them absent.  He gave them up in his bargain with the presence. Apprehension rose in him. What would Megatron do to him, without the means to fight back?

“So it’s true,” Megatron said, as he stood and looked around. Then he bowed. “My Prime, I gave an oath to Primus to protect the Prime who holds the Matrix of Purification and to accept your guidance. “

Relief swept through him. “And I gave up my right to arms to provide that guidance,” Optimus said, bowing back. “This war is over. Let us rebuild Cybertron and ensure that the circumstance which led to its destruction never occur again.” He looked up at Megatron, realizing for the first time that the presence reformatted him. Around them the surviving fighters came to their peds. He drew in air, hoping to forestall more fighting.

Instead, they chorused, “We stand as witness.” They returned to Shockwave’s base and began the work of restoring their home planet.  The Decepticons unable to deal with peace traveled to Iacon and thence elsewhere, as Strika and Obsidian chose. To them fell the task of guarding the planet from those who might attack from outside, and to find the metals no one could scavenge from the ruins. Drones did the mining now. Some of the neutrals emerged as leaders, and they chose to go to Iacon.  Wheeljack's invention, the one which used solar power to make energon, provided the fuel to bring the empties back to life and motivate them to rebuild. They accepted the Prime and his Lord Protector as leaders, in exchange for that fuel. 

Optimus knew now that a new Prime carried the Matrix of Leadership, and knew of Cybertron's rebuilding.  He knew how the Autobots who left Earth tricked the Decepticons, and that they fought against a grim foe to protect both Earth and Cybertron; he knew that some of his Autobots escaped Megatron’s sweep, choosing to stay on the planet they loved instead. One day they would come home.  He renewed his inward vow to ensure that they would have a thriving Cybertron to return to when they chose.

Optimus accepted that his Autobots needed to integrate with the Decepticons. They were not safe in Iacon, where the neutral still resented both sides. But he did not accept that his Autobots must submit to the officer levels of the Decepticons, like the grunt Decepticons with no skills. He insisted that the ones with talents be recognized. Megatron gave grudgingly, but he gave. The Autobots with skills and talents earned status with the Decepticons leaders. 

Processor cleared, he stepped into the room.  He emerged feeling peaceful. There would be new life again. They could begin the testing within a vorn or so.  He remembered how puzzled Skydive looked when he asked the youngling to witness. He chose from those who were the last or close to the last of their kind to offer the first chance to reproduce. He wanted the young flyer to hear his warnings.  Starscream took excellent care of the young fliers, taking them in as younglings of their culture. He also isolated them, submerging them in Seeker culture. Taking away Unicron’s taint and dedicating him to the rebuilding of Cybertron did not take away Starscream’s self-interest. 

Not far from the door,  Megatron stood waiting for him.  “Next time let me know where you’re going,” Megatron complained testily. “I’ve spent the last two joors looking for you.” He sent an uneasy glance at the door. The metaphysical worried Megatron. He couldn’t shoot it, shout at it, threaten it, or cajole it.

Optimus vented.  Yes, the taint of Unicron no longer drove Megatron to cruelty and destruction. Yes, his leadership without that taint goading him drove the rebuilding effectively- as long as someone else did the administrative duties.  At the same time, he wanted his own faction in charge, and he wanted to expand his influence. Megatron did not know about the new Prime, or the survival of the Autobot officers.  Only Soundwave knew. Being one of the Decepticons who fought the Fallen, Soundwave obeyed the direct order of his Prime to keep the information quiet. Megatron did not need to know there was a mech out there capable of challenging him.

Advising? Optimus thought sourly. It was all he could do to keep the Lord Protector in check.  At first he slipped away and visited Kaon and Iacon to see problems. Megatron worked to block his trips as much as possible. He said he needed to keep his oath to protect Optimus, and the Prime knew that was part of the truth. Megatron also hated being found lacking. As the rebuilding expanded, Optimus recruited agents who looked into matters for him, and reported regularly. Some worked with him, like Bluestreak whose former business experience helped a great deal, or frequented the headquarters like Soundwave. 

Megatron would rebuild Cybertron. He would protect Optimus.  The presence implanted those commands in Megatron when it repaired him. Two cities grew where ruins once stood; everyone got fuel, shelter, safety, and some measure of comfort.

But the Prime that Megatron protected did not trust his Lord Protector not to angle matters to his own satisfaction. And that worried Optimus.

 

 

 


	4. Silverbolt and Skydive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silverbolt makes a decision. So does Skydive.

Maze of Sparks chapter 4

Silverbolt squatted on the corner of the roof of the Archive building, looking out on Kaon, and brooded even as he listened out for unwanted company.  They thought of it as courting. He called it stalking. Lately he spent a lot of what used to be free time hiding, either in the archives, in his room, or on various roofs. He knew he needed to accept some of the courting. He knew he needed to choose while he could.  

But he did not want to choose. He wanted a few vorns of freedom.

Not long after Skydive talked about the breeding programming, Blaster and Soundwave opened up the archives again, both for research and for recreational browsing. All the Aerialbots started visiting as much as possible. Their mentors considered the archives both safe and educational. Skydive read as much history as he could lay servos on.  Fireflight watched old holovids. Silverbolt got the sense of the holovids from Fireflight to cover his own actions. As the archives contained most of the recorded entertainment in Kaon, many mechs came to access it, including most of the Autobots. Silverbolt managed connections, gathering gossip and matching that to what observations he could make while in the field.

Rebuilding continued, moving out, but mechs started moving out of the barracks and into homes. The supervisors, usually former officers, got theirs first, Soundwave and Blaster first. Some mechs started small businesses after hours, encouraged by the Prime and Lord Protector.  The Constructicons spent quite a bit of their free time renovating a large multi-unit building, and moved in, taking Hoist, Huffer, and Grapple with them.  Dirge and his trine worked with them, and then they completed their own home, the Constructicons renovated the building they chose. Dirge and his trine moved out with Powerglide.

Right about then the other Seekers started watching Silverbolt and Skydive. They showed little interest in Fireflight, since Thundercracker either warned off or beat off anyone who showed an interest in his chosen partner.  Soon that interest shifted to Silverbolt, as Starscream showed interest in Skydive. No Seeker was stupid enough to challenge the Air Commander.

At first Silverbolt resented Thundercracker for both taking his place as Fireflight’s protector and for staking his claim so early.  He urged his brother to push the blue Seeker back and look at his options, oly to discover that Fireflight made his own choice.  “He’s been kind to us,” Fireflight told them.  “He doesn’t mind when I get distracted. I like him a lot.” His optics brightened. “I hope I’m a carrier. Think of it, a sparking of my own, like Daniel was Carly and Spike’s!” Not even when Blaster died budding did his longing diminish.  

The archive buzzed when that happened. “His system tried to both bud and split spark,” Hoist told Silverbolt that day in the archives, sounding sad. “He started malfunctioning almost from the start, too. Soundwave tried to help him deal with the loss of his symbiotes, but I guess it wasn’t enough.” He paused, and looked away. “Losing some of his symbiotes the way Blaster did- I guess his system was trying to replace one.” Then he gave a wan smile. “The other two sailed through their carrying and budding.” He put a hand on his chassis.

The next time Silverbolt saw him, he carried a sparkling with purple optics.  Silverbolt offered to hold the little one while Hoist chose a holovid to watch, since little Boost was in recharge. But the sparkling woke while Hoist hunted, and began to whimper and nuzzle.  Silverbolt sent Hoist a worried com, and the carrier hurried back, amusement in his field. He pulled a container from subspace.  Silverbolt managed to get the opening into the sparkling’s mouth quickly, calming both the sparkling and the youngling down. By this time they gathered something of an audience. Long Haul showed up after Boost started refueling, and simply stood back to watch.  By the next morning Silverbolt discovered that half of Kaon shared recordings of him refueling Boost. Somehow that convinced the Seekers that he would make an ideal carrier.

Most of Kaon’s mechs made their way to the temple by now. The pattern emerging came clear within a few decaorns. Very few Decepticons received the full programming, carrier and sire both.  Most received the siring only. So far, all the Autobots received the full programming. He did not know about the neutrals.

Skydive came back from one of his visits to the Temple and said quietly, “If the mech gets no programming, they’re sending them to Iacon.” They stood on the roof of the Archive building.  Skydive looked around, then resorted to the com anyway. “I overheard the Lord Protector talk about how carriers should leave the sparklings with the sires and go from one sire to another.  The Prime heard him.“ He sent Silverbolt the recording.

 

_“So you want to make the carriers your slaves?” the Prime thundered. Somehow he loomed over the taller mech. Megatron stood his ground._

_“We have too few!” he roared back. “We need more.  We have the energon and the materials to build, but not enough of our people, Prime! How can we rebuild without enough servos to do the work?”_

_This time the volume of the Prime voice dropped, but became more intense. “And if you are the carrier, my Lord Protector, will you do the same? Will you carry and bud a sparkling for one mech after another?” Megatron flinched back as though burned. The Prime’s voice saddened. “Do you forget your past so quickly, Megatron? How they used the great strength you possessed, and that of others to do their work, or to entertain them,  only to toss you aside when that usefulness ended?  The war started when ones who governed Cybertron stopped seeing others as people and started seeing them only as objects to be used.”_

_Megatron vented. “I want to see this world renewed,” he said, sounding subdued.  “Primus gave me that directive.”_

_“With me to guide you, Primus help me.” At that Megatron huffed and both of the laughed just a little, breaking the tension. “The mechs on this world are as much a part of the renewal as the buildings, Lord Protector,” the Prime reminded him, becoming serious again. “We need to protect the carriers, and their offspring, not use them. The little ones will carry the programming.”  He walked over to his Lord Protector and laid a servo on his shoulder._

An invention of Wheeljack and Perceptor- a means to get energon from sunlight in space- triggered all the chaos that lead to Cybertron’s renewal. That new source of energon enabled the Autobots to build the _New Ark_ , leading Shockwave to think they had a new weapon. His response led to the release of the Fallen, and the disappearance of the Prime. When all the Decepticons left Earth, the Autobots decided to leave as well, daring to hope they could find peace in the new ship, and if rumor was true, a new base.

 Sometimes, when he strained, Silverbolt could still sense his distant brothers. He figured that if they were still alive, some of the others must be, and he hoped with all his spark that they were safe on a base somewhere. 

Here on Cybertron, that invention fueled the rebuilding. Kaon’s center thrived now, with expansions into the old suburbs.  The less stable neutrals and the former fighters unable to settle into civilian life worked on Iacon. The more stable neutrals came to Kaon, joining the work crews that spread out into the city. They swelled the working ranks enough to split into first and second shifts.

 Silverbolt researched the databanks on the customs regarding younglings, discovering somewhat to his disappointment that in both Seeker and most grounder cultures, younglings remained with their families or guardians until they reached adult status or were accepted into certain acadamies. He finally chased down the criteria for a youngling to claim adulthood, looking for ammunition to get him out of the Seeker barracks and in with the other Autobots.  While he looked, he overheard what a few mechs thought was a private conversation.  He left the archives that day with his emotions as turbulent as an Earth thunderstorm. 

All but three of the Autobots lived with Decepticon partners now.  The mechs he overheard discussed how to convert their old barracks into a daycare center and eventually a school.

Silverbolt wanted sparklings, but he didn’t want them now. He wanted to be independent for just a few vorns, before he settled on a partner. For all his life he shouldered the burden of leadership of his gestalt. Now Fireflight leaned on Thundercracker. That left two unattached Autobots.

As the shifts settled out, Silverbolt and Skydive worked more and more on datawork, relaying smaller loads from one storage area to another. Fireflight worked consistently with Thundercracker. Starscream used the other brothers as aides, alternating between the two for a time before settling on Skydive.

In less than a vorn, the younglings became adults.  While Seekers wanted him to make a choice before that data arrived,  Silverbolt decided that his best chance of stalling lay in playing the courting rivals against each other . Mechs had to present proof of support before being presented for reprogramming. Until he accepted a partner or a trine, the Temple would not even see him.

Satisfied with his decision, he vented and flew off the roof, heading back to the main Seeker hanger.  He got about halfway there before several mechs joined a flight pattern around him, and the courting began.

 

The night before they became adults, Skydive came to see Silverbolt late in the evening. “Come to the Temple with me,” he asked.

“I thought you were going with Starscream tomorrow,” Silverbolt said. Skydive’s field twisted with emotion. He knew his brother visited the Temple frequently in the last vorn, but never chose to confide in him.

“I can’t wait,” he said. “I can’t ignore the call any longer. I’ve been trying, but I can’t, and I need a witness. Please, Silverbolt.” His engines whined with his internal stress.  He led the way to their balcony, leaping into the air. Silverbolt followed, worried about his brother and somewhat relieved for an excuse to be elsewhere before Starscream came to give him another lecture about making a choice for a partner. Silverbolt narrowed his choices down to three by this time. As he hoped, the competition between the rivals eased some of the pressure on him.

So far Silverbolt eliminated every rival that Starscream favored. The more he worked with Starscream, the less he liked the Air commander. In his opinion, the less connection a Seeker trine had with the bossy, screeching mech the better. Skydive never objected to being Starscream’s choice; they shared an inclination for the intellectual and Skydive never struggled with the fear of heights that still plagued Silverbolt at times.  

They landed at the Temple and a startled guard came out. “Skydive, while you are always welcome, the reprograming won’t start until first shift.  Air Commander Starscream and Seeker Thundercracker have made the arrangements.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” Skydive said.  “I need to see a counselor, with a witness. I can’t ignore the call any longer. ” His wings moved in his agiatation. Understanding flooded the  guard’s field and he stepped back. Puzzled,  Silverbolt followed, hearing the sound of a engine coming in for a landing behind them. Inside, Skydive went to one of the chapels. Silverbolt followed, his spark beginning to twist. Behind him, he heard Starscream arguing with the guard, his distinctive voice rising.

In the chapel stood a priest of Primus in front of a counseling booth, reading a datapad. He stood as the two fliers came in. Unlike the guard, the priest did not look surprised to see Skydive. “You’ve made your decision?” he asked. Skydive nodded. The priest’s optics looked blank for a time as he checked his processor.  “While we cannot accept you formally for a few more joors, I can accept your declaration of a vocation.”

Skydive turned to Silverbolt. “I tried,” he blurted out. “I know it’s going to cause a lot of trouble. I hoped- I hoped I could put it off a few vorns and give you time, Silverbolt, I know you wanted to wait, but I can’t.” Despite his disjointed words, his field began to smooth, into a calm resolution.

“Those who hear the call of Primus must heed it in their own time,” the priest said, and finally Silverbolt understood.  Then Skydive’s optics went over Silverbolt’s head and his field flooded with anxiety.

“What is this?” Starscream demanded, pushing off the protesting guard. “Skydive, I already made arrangements. Come home and we’ll be back for your appointment when it’s time.” He stood impatiently, waiting.

Skydive turned to the priest, who moved between the younger flier and the Air Commander with a swiftness that startled Silverbolt. “Air Commander Starscream, Flyer Silverbolt, you are in time to witness a special moment,” the priest said.  Several others appeared behind Starscream, surrounding him.

“What is this? Skydive, I told you that I have everything arranged!”

“Yes, Air Commander,” Skydive said.  He sounded the way he did just before battle. Which he was, Silverbolt realized. He was fighting for the future he desperately wanted.

“I told you to call me Starscream, when we agreed to partner,” the Seeker said, the anger in his field flaring.

“Air Commander, you will please respect the sanctity of the Temple of Primus,” someone said sternly. Everyone turned to see the High Priest of the Temple walk in. Even Starscream stepped aside. The Highest moved to the altar. “Skydive, come stand before me,” he added, in a kinder tone.  “Are you breaking a prior arrangement to come here?”

Skydive moved to face the priest, his wings held high.  “No, Highest of Primus. “ Starscream hissed. The Highest looked at him, and the Air Commander subsided. “The Air Commander took lack of objection for agreement. He informed me that I would be his partner, and I did not argue, but I never agreed.”

The priest held out his wrist, a plug extruding. Skydive held out his own, a port opening.  The sound of the plug entering the port clicked loud in the charged silence of the chapel.  The connection lasted a few astroseconds before they disengaged.   The Highest moved to kneel at the altar. Skydive knelt beside him. Then the priest rose. “He does not lie,” he said to the room. Starscream hissed again, but the priests moved up to block him. “He is old enough to make his decision as of this moment.” Silverbolt checked his internal chronometer. It was a new orn. As of today, they were no longer younglings. 

“Declare yourself,” the Highest  said, “and Primus will decide.” Around him Silverbolt felt the excitement of the other priests rising.

“I have heard the call of Primus in my spark,” Skydive said. “I ask to heed the call, and join the ranks of those who serve him.”

A hum rang through the room. Silverbolt felt it ring through him. “You are accepted,” the Highest said.

Starscream stormed out of the chapel.

 

 


	5. Starscream deals with disappointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream learns that Air Commanders have power limits

Starscream burned through the Cybertronian sky, raging at the ungrateful younglings who defied him. He knew of a site cleaned of both Empties and usable material, about to be cleared for rebuilding. He headed there. By the time he finished, the remains of the buildings lay in pieces of rubble, something the puzzled clearing crew appreciated several orns later.

Processor cleared, rage spent, the Air Commander headed back to the settled part of Kaon when he felt cautious pings from Thundercracker and Skywarp. They appeared like shadows, one on either side.  “What is it?”  he asked irritably, but felt some comfort at the presence of his trine mates.

“We’d like to know what happened,”Thundercracker said reasonably. Starscream sent them data bursts as they flew through the emerging suburbs of Kaon, past the Constructicons’ compound. They passed the building Dirge and his trine claimed, and Starscream felt his spark twist.  He saw Powerglide flying with one of the trine almost daily, sometimes carrying one of his two sparkings with him.

Why couldn’t he or even better, one of his trine be a carrier? But he emerged from the portal with only the programming for the siring, like most Decepticons. Like them, his only chance at a sparkling depended on another mech.  Right now, there was one choice left.

The orn Skydive announced his vocation and entered the priesthood of Primus, Starscream informed Silverbolt that he would replace his brother as Starscream’s aide, working at the warehouse when Starscream did not need him.   Silverbolt said nothing in response.

The next orn, Thundercracker commed him to say a Seeker, Flightspeed, appeared at the warehouse, announcing that the Prime sent him to replace Silverbolt, who took the Seeker’s old position. 

 Starscream commed his former ward demanding an explanation. Silverbolt informed him in very formal language that Optimus Prime sent for him, asked him to take the position as it was very difficult to fill, and he accepted.  That meant the position was with the central administration, removing him neatly from Starscream’s supervision.  A seething Air Commander flew straight to Lord Megatron to protest. The Lord Protector heard him out and informed his Air Commander that as the Prime made the appointment, Starscream needed to speak to the Prime, which required an appointment.  

Starscream arrived at the Seeker hanger intending to speak to the younger flyer only to find Silverbolt’s quarters empty. “He showed up with Soundwave and cleared out his quarters,” Thundercracker said unhappily. “Soundwave had a datapad with orders from the Prime transferring him. I tried to talk some sense into him, but he said he had quarters with his new position and wouldn’t say anything else.” His wings moved into a distressed position.  

Starscream made an appointment with the Prime.

After keeping Starscream cooling his heels for over a joor, Optimus met with him. Starscream started civilly enough, stating that he was Silverbolt’s leader and mentor and such a move should have been discussed with him. The Prime’s field flared with amusement at the implied accusation of rudeness. “The position is an important one,” the Prime explained, and pointed out that every Seeker who took the position left within a few decaorns because it involved more datawork than flying. “I will add that neither Glit nor Hoist appreciated the efforts of some grounders to access the more remote areas with a jetpack,” he added. “This position is ideal for Silverbolt; he’s responsible enough to work alone and with sensitive material, he is very comfortable working in an enclosed area, and Thundercracker has trained him admirably in datawork.”

“All of the qualities I need in an aide,” Starscream pointed out.

“Flightspeed is certainly capable of handling Silverbolt’s prior position, including that of your aide.” He walked over and picked up a datapad from the stacks surrounding his office. “How I miss Prowl,” he said with a vent. “Bluestreak is very good, but he’s not the same.”

Starscream ignored the dismissal. “Silverbolt needs to test for budding and choose a partner,” he insisted. “He’s got several trines courting him.” He made no mention of his intention to claim the last Autobot and only flyer with carrier potential.

“And this affects his ability to handle this particular position how?” the Prime asked, somewhat testily.  

“Of course it does not,” Starscream said, and his voice began to rise. “But he should be where he meets other flyers. He should return to his quarters. ” Starscream intended to have a long, long talk with him regarding his future as the Air Commander’s partner the moment he got Silverbolt back to the Seeker’s hangar. It would last until Silverbolt agreed. End of story.

“Yes, he mentioned the matter,” Optimus said, and this time his voice and his field held an angry edge that made Starscream nervous. “I received a full report from the Highest regarding Skydive’s acceptance to the priesthood, including his confirmation that Skydive never agreed to partner with you. He spoke with Silverbolt and Skydive at length.” As Starscream started to sputter, he held up a servo. “Hear me out.  They had no complaint of their treatment as your wards. They believe that their mentors and their Air Commander treated them well.” The Prime’s expression became grim.  “However, they also felt- and I agree- that they were pressured to partner as soon as they became old enough.  Indeed, Skydive said that except for his drive to become a servant of Primus, he accepted that either he or Silverbolt would be your partner with no choice in the matter. “

“I did discuss the matter with him. He never objected, never asked for time, never looked at another Seeker. “Starscream thought the humiliation would eat him alive. If he had known, he could have worked out some kind of agreement with him, or let him go and take Silverbolt from the beginning.

“Once you made your choice, no other Seeker would court him and oppose the Air Commander.  He believed that either he or Silverbolt must be your partner, and that Silverbolt is not ready to partner yet. He intended to partner with you, raise a few sparklings, and then go into the priesthood, until the call became too strong to ignore.” His field flared, and the disappointment in it stung the Air Commander. “I would like to know how your position of Air Command gives you the right to choose between the Aerialbots for a partner or to insist that any of them partner and bud before they are ready. “

 “If they had complaints they never voiced them! And no one is objecting to Thundercracker and Fireflight!” The moment he said the words he wished he bit them back. Thundercracker would kill him if they took Fireflight away.

“Silverbolt talked to Fireflight some time ago. The priest who allowed the reprogramming also spoke to him at length. Both of them were satisfied that Fireflight wanted the partnership. Silverbolt said that Skydive avoided discussing the matter and he did not pursue it.”

Starscream shrilled, “He has a duty-“

Optimus cut him off.  “To who? To Primus? Or to the Air Commander? Are the wishes of the Air Commander the wishes of Primus now?” His voice swelled and Starscream flinched back at the power in it. “I spoke to the priest of Primus and to the medics. Both agree that forcing Silverbolt to bud before he feels ready increases his chances of dying during budding and virtually ensures two unhappy partners leading to emotionally warped offspring. Is that what you wish?”

Starscream shook his head, unable to speak. His spark throbbed with hurt and humiliation. Silence ruled the room until Optimus said, “If you wish to take a partner, I strongly recommend that you court them properly and gain their acceptance instead of coercing them.  Silverbolt will remain where he is, and when he is ready, he can choose a partner and be evaluated for reprogramming. Now leave. I have duties and so do you.”

The two Seekers absorbed the packet as they approached the Seeker complex.  “I’ll have Fireflight keep me posted on what he’s doing,” Thundercracker said at last. “And I’d take the Prime’s advice, if I were you.”

They landed in the courtyard. “What’s the big hurry anyway?’ Skywarp asked, honestly baffled. “Sparklings change everything. They’re work. And dealing with a partner is a huge pain. Why not wait a while? Nobody’s shooting at us, we’ve finally got plenty of fuel, and we’ve just started getting things back in decent shape. Why not enjoy our freedom for a time?”

Starscream vented. “And who are you going to partner with when you’re ready?” he asked sharply. “Silverbolt’s the only Autobot left!”

“So there are plenty of neutrals,” Skywarp pointed out. “And the sparklings will grow up, and they’ll have the programming.  I can wait. Why don’t we focus on getting out own complex set up, like Dirge and his trine? ”

Starscream only huffed and went to brood on a roof.

He remembered the Fallen and shuddered. He came away from that abomination with his priorities changed and feeling somehow clean. He wanted Cybertron rebuilt, bright and shining, without the deadwood of the rich, powerful, and connected running the show.  Besides, being the Lord Protector meant dealing with a Prime who must be heeded. Feeling the power of the Prime directed at him, he understood the Lord Protector’s need to contain Optimus. he wondered for a moment what it would be like to interface with that kind of power, and firmly pushed the thought away. 

He understood even more than Megatron the need to renew their population, but he saw Skywarp’s point as well. They brought in enough that they could make energon goodies and some high grade. About half the population managed to find a way to get into a home of their own, either with a partner or with a trine-equivalent.  Like most mechs, Starscream managed to work out a small side business mapping out areas of no interest to the government but of some potential to individuals for their own reasons.  The complex they picked out needed only a small amount of work to be ready. He agreed with Thundercracker that the moment they knew one of the partners carried, they would ask the Constructicons to start to work.

Court, he thought. He had to court and win his partner? How did he even start? He turned over ideas in his mind as he stood up and headed off to get some work done. Maybe something would come to him.

He spoke to Flightspeed about his prior position. “He can have it,” Flightspeed said with feeling. “I took it to be closer to Bluestreak and my little Sweetwings, but it was horrible!  Enclosed in a building all the time, having to stay overnight in quarters attached to one of the storage buildings and away from my own berth when an important shipment was incoming, most of the time doing nothing but data work and having to hover in enclosed areas-I hated it and I’m willing to bet you a few cubes that he’ll be begging to come back in a few decaorns.”

Only Silverbolt’s ideal job, Starscream thought glumly. Flightspeed turned out to be as competent as the Prime predicted, but Starscream found he missed the younger ones. Their questions and their fresh point of view helped give Starscream a different perspective on many matters, while Flightspeed tended to accept the status quo.

 He waited a few decoarns before he asked Thundercracker if Silverbolt might visit to see Fireflight. “He won’t come here, Fireflight says,” Thundercracker reported. “He said that he’s talked to a few mechs at the archives who’ve seen him, and he’s fine and likes his new job. He’s sticking close to the administrative section.  Look, invite him to share a couple cubes down that way, somewhere he feels safe.”

Not long afterward, Long Haul contacted him about overflying an area where some mechs wanted to set up a racecourse.  They agreed on a time. “By the way, we’ve seen Silverbolt,” he said. “Hoist asked him to watch the little sparks a few orns ago.”  

“How was he?” Starscream asked casually. He could not understand how Silverbolt enjoyed caring for little ones but refused to bud his own.

“He’s fine, but he doesn’t get out much.  A group of Seekers are giving him a hard time, following him around. Thought you might want to know, ‘cause it’s got Hoist and some of the other carriers upset, and he asked me to say something to you about it. “

“I see. “ Starscream replied. “Thanks for letting me know. “ Pits, he thought gloomily, now I have to give them the same lecture Prime gave me.  He made the overflight first, reported back to Long Haul, and headed for home.

He passed over the archive building on his way, and circled back when he saw a group of Seekers. While he, Thundercracker and Dirge encouraged the young flyers to visit the archive because the building and activities there were safe, it was not a favorite hangout for other Seekers, and he wondered what was going on.

He landed outside the group in time to hear, “We’ve been courting you for groons, Silverbolt, and now we hear you’ve moved out of the hanger. “

Silverbolt stood with his back against the building, with the Seekers surrounding him. “So?” he challenged. “The Prime offered me a position. I took it, because other Seekers who had it hated it and a grounder can’t handle it. It comes with quarters. There’s nothing strange about it.”  He edged toward the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me?”

“We heard you were visiting the Constructicons, and not all of them have partners,” another growled. “If you think we’re going to let one of them have a flyer, think again.” Several of the Seekers hissed in agreement. 

 “ _What_?” Starscream thought that Thundercracker in the Seeker hanger, several miles away, might just have heard Silverbolt. “Since when did any of you get the idea that I exist just to pop out sparklings for one of you? That I should be grateful I can choose an owner?” His wings flared as he went into a crouch, radiating rage. “No,” he hissed. “If any of you think that, forget it. I want a partner, not an owner. ”

Outraged hisses greeted that challenge.  Starscream judged it time to step in. “That’s enough!” he said, loud enough for all of the Seekers and Silverbolt to hear him. He pushed his way through the crowd to stand in front of the young flyer. Silverbolt, startled out of his rage, straightened up but still looked defiant.  “Just who thought this piece of idiocy would do any of you any good?”

“He’s old enough now to carry! He needs to choose a partner and reformat!” they yelled.

“I’m not ready,” Silverbolt shouted back. “Why can’t any of you understand that? I’ve never known anything but war!  I’ve always looked out for my brothers. I just want some time to be free!” His wings dropped. “Why is that so much to ask?” he asked in a more normal tone. “No one asked you to take on a family at my age, did they?”  Without the fear or anger driving him, he looked young and terribly forlorn.

That calmed the Seekers, and Starscream relaxed just a little. He saw Soundwave and the Lord Protector appear behind the Seekers, not to mention a small audience of former Autobots behind them. One of the Seekers said, “But anyone who can carry has a duty.”

“No,” Starscream said, and Silverbolt shot him a startled glance. “I’ve already spoken to the Prime on this matter. He told me in no uncertain terms that Silverbolt has the right to choose not only who he wants to partner, but when.”  He turned to Silverbolt and gestured toward the door and the crowd of carriers standing by it.  They swept in, surrounded Silverbolt and drew him inside with them.  Behind him, Starscream heard the Seekers starting to protest.

“Unhappy carrier, unready, more likely to die budding,” Soundwave said from behind them. They turned to look at the communications officer and bowed hastily to the Lord Protector.

“No to mention having to live with a sullen partner,” Lord Megatron said wryly. “But I spoke to the High Priest about this matter quite some time ago, when the Prime expressed some concerns. He said that any mech coming to them who feels forced will not get reprogrammed, and they will see that he finds a new position where he feels safe. That, my mechs, is why Silverbolt is working directly under the Prime now, though he did turn out to be perfect for a difficult position.” His crimson gaze swept past all of them.  “Now, I suggest you leave. If I hear the young one is threatened again, I will know who to bring in for questioning first.”

Within an astrosecond the street was empty of all but one Seeker. Soundwave bowed to the Lord Protector and left to reassure the mechs in the archive building.  Megatron walked over to Starscream.  “I just barely managed to keep Optimus away,” he warned. “You need to deal with this, Air Commander.” His field flared, but not with the anger Starscream expected. Instead he felt amusement. “That young one needs a protector. A winged one, hmmm?” He paused. “A patient Seeker, I think.”

Starscream finally figured out where this was going, and his own field flared with dawning hope and just a bit of gleeful satisfaction. Of course Silverbolt would need a protector, a Seeker strong enough to keep the others off and patient enough to wait him out.

Well. That should make the courting a little easier.


	6. Silverbolt's Final Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After some action, Silverbolt finds he has choices, and he makes one. Some mild allusions to sex, nothing explicit.

The carriers got Silverbolt calmed down before all the sires converged on the library to check on their partners and offspring. Soundwave found Silverbolt and walked him out to escort him home, but Starscream waited outside the library. He offered escort. On reaching Silverbolt’s quarters, he asked permission to court the younger flyer.  After a moment’s reflection, Silverbolt accepted.

Silverbolt went back to his quarters with very mixed feelings.  Clearly, Starscream intended to wait him out. As long as he courted Silverbolt, the other Seekers would leave him alone. The moment Silverbolt showed interest elsewhere, the Seekers would close in again. Well, in that case, he decided, let Starscream court. In the meantime, he would keep his optics open for alternatives.

They met in public places at Silverbolt’s insistence. They both enjoyed strolling in the parks where the sparklings Silverbolt sometimes cared for swarmed him for attention. At time Silverbolt joined Starscream in his flyovers, or Starscream accompanied him to visit Fireflight.  When the new credit system began, businesses began popping up, including several meeting places where mechs could go to listen to music, both Cybertronian and human, and buy various energon drinks.  Silverbolt enjoyed their trips to these places, but he stayed away from high grade, both because he disliked the taste, and because he felt uneasy being anything but totally alert when around Starscream.

Skywarp found an old place that was the equivalent to a human spa, with areas for oil baths and detailing. With the help of Swindle and several neutrals, he managed to rebuild and open it.

Silverbolt started hearing about the oil baths both at the Archives and from his sparkling-sitter clients. They all seemed to enjoy the baths immensely. Fireflight visited with Thundercracker and told him that the baths felt very relaxing. They were also very expensive.  Silverbolt wanted to try them.  When he had enough saved, he asked for the time off, going to the main offices to turn in the datapad. He arrived to find Flightspeed talking to Bluestreak.

After a few polite greetings, Flightspeed stepped out. Silverbolt gave Bluestreak the datapad and the Prime’s secretary scanned it. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, “but mind if I ask why?” Silverbolt told him. Bluestreak looked surprised. “Meeting someone? Not that it’s any of my business,” he asked.

“Pits, no,” Silverbolt said. “I asked when their slowest time was, so I could get some time alone and just relax.” He sighed. “Hey, have you tried that new energon mix that Mixmaster’s putting together? Long Haul gave me about half a cube when he and Hoist got back late the other orn.”

Bluestreak’s field flared with amusement and he was about to say something when someone came in. Silverbolt left, remembering how well he recharged after that cube. He figured the sparklings just wore him out.

When he entered the spa, he found to his pleasure that the place was as quiet as he hoped. “Usually we give you a joor,” the neutral who attended the bath said, “but that one’s only for mechs with wings or doorwings, so there isn’t much demand. You can stay until someone else comes in. It’s a slow orn right now.”

Primus, Silverbolt thought as he sank into the oil and the warmth enveloped him, this feels good! He soaked for some time when another mech strolled in.  Regretfully he started to get up. “Don’t bother,” Starscream said. “There’s room for both of us.” Am I just unlucky, Silverbolt wondered, or did he manage to find out I was coming somehow? He debated staying and finding a polite way to leave or just being rude when the Seeker added, “ I brought a few cubes, some of that flavored energon of Mixmaster’s. Want to try one? ”

“That sounds good,” Silverbolt said, willing to give Starscream a little more time before he excused himself. Mixmaster’s new mix made it to market, and it was commanding some stiff prices. Starscream handed him a full cube, smiling at Silverbolt’s pleasure in the unexpected gift. The younger flier savored the drink; the mix tasted as good as he remembered.

But when he finished the cube, Silverbolt began to feel a little odd. “Think I’m getting a little overheated,” he said, and stood. He staggered a little.  Starscream stood and steadied him, amused.  “Let’s get the oil off,” he suggested.

“But you haven’t been here long,” Silverbolt protested.

“My trine member owns this place, remember?” Starscream said. Silverbolt felt like an idiot. Starscream probably knew he was coming from the moment he made the reservation. Starscream helped Silverbolt up and led him to a separate room with a large, low, padded bench.  The attendant merely nodded to them as they passed.

“I’m all right,” Silverbolt said with what dignity he could muster, and managed to clean off most of the oil, only to find he could not get to his wings. “Pits,’ he muttered.

“I’ll do yours if you’ll do mine,” Starscream suggested. Silverbolt nodded, thinking nothing of it. He and his brothers shared the washracks and dried each other off all the time.  Starscream turned. Silverbolt started wiping, only to find that Starscream was picky. He wanted the rubbing done hard in some spots, softer in others. He asked Silverbolt to get into his seams. Starscream’s engines purred when he complied, making Silverbolt giggle.

“My turn,” Starscream said, his vocalizer rougher than usual.  Before Silverbolt could protest, he took the cloth and began wiping. It felt good, and Silverbolt relaxed under the older Seeker’s expert servos as the oil came off.  Starscream’s servos slipped into seams and rubbed. Sensations Silverbolt never felt before shot through his chassis and he shivered. Starscream chuckled. “Like that, do we?” he murmured.

Silverbolt pulled away and whirled. He almost fell, catching himself on the bench just in time.  “What are you doing?” he asked, suddenly frightened. “What was in that cube?”

Starscream frowned. “I heard you liked Mixmaster’s flavored high grade.”  

“High grade?” Silverbolt asked, confused. He stood cautiously and with effort stayed upright, though he swayed a little. “It doesn’t taste bad enough to be high grade.” Starscream laughed. “It’s not funny! “ He felt Starscream’s field flare, exasperation mixed with desire and frustration.  “Why’d you have to come and bother me anyway? What do you want?” He knew that was a stupid question as soon as he asked it. Starscream’s field told him exactly what he wanted. Worse, Silverbolt wanted that feeling again, and Starscream had a reputation in the berth.

“Just to relax a bit,” Starscream asked, his voice a caress that made Silverbolt’s fan start up. “That’s what the baths are for. “ He stood. Silverbolt stepped back too quickly and started to fall. Starscream grabbed his arm and steadied him.

“I didn’t come here to interface,” Silverbolt complained. “I just wanted to soak and relax.”  One of his wings started to itch, and he reached to rub it.

“I missed a spot,” Starscream said, and rubbed it, taking care of the itch. He kept rubbing gently. It felt good, but not frightening like the seam play. “There,” the older Seeker said. “That’s relaxing, isn’t it? That’s why you came, to relax. There’s nothing wrong with a little physical pleasure, is there?”  He knew just where to touch, just when to blow air so that the younger flyer’s engines speed. Silverbolt leaned against him, knowing he should protest but not wanting the new feelings to stop.  “You’re not a youngling any more, and you haven’t gotten the budding programming. What the harm?” His servos explored a while before he stroked a port and murmured, “Open up for me.”   Lost in sensation, Silverbolt opened, and soon after he overloaded, with Starscream’s hissing laughter in his audials. “Here,” he said, “do this-“ Silverbolt did. Starscream overloaded with a happy yelp.

That was just the start.

Sometime later, Starscream accompanied Silverbolt back to his quarters with a smug air of possession.  Silverbolt fell on his berth and slid directly into recharge.

The next day he opened his optics and wondered at how he felt, tired and sore and oh so completely relaxed. Memory returned, and he cringed until his empty tank wailed at him. He pulled a cube from his small stock and downed it, feeling better as the fuel filled him. Then he pulled some coolant.   As he finished it, the Prime contacted him with an urgent need for something from inventory that took Silverbolt quite a few joors to find. He headed to Prime’s office with the material. He found both Strika and Starscream there.  Silverbolt brought Prime the items, murmuring greetings to both the officers but avoiding Starscream’s gaze. He reached the door when he got the sly com.

“Recharge well?”

The smug satisfaction in that com turned his shame to fury. He refused to give Starscream the satisfaction of looking at him, but getting back to the safety of the warehouse was a distinct relief.  As he worked, he remembered the orn before. He felt embarrassed and furious in turns at how neatly Starscream maneuvered him into that interface.  How did Mixmaster make high grade without the aftertaste?

 He wondered morbidly how fast this particular news might spread.  He remembered the sense of triumph Starscream exuded, along with a fierce possessiveness.  He finished the upload he was working on and stared at it. 

To the Pits with you, Starscream, he thought.  Of course Starscream felt smug; he’d been trying to get Silverbolt in his berth since he started courting, believing that once Silverbolt experienced a good interface, he’d want more.  Silverbolt feel even more trapped.  If he dropped Starscream now, the Seekers would crowd in again.  

A ping at the door startled him. He checked to see who it was. To his surprise, Strika stood outside the door. “Prime asked me to bring these back,” she said gruffly. Silverbolt accept the items and took a moment to note their return back into the database as she waited. “I have a personal request,” she said as he looked up from the inventory. “Could you meet me at the end of your shift in the rec room in the Administration building?”

“All right,” he agreed, wondering what she wanted. He got most of his energon from that rec room, so no one would wonder at seeing them talking there.  He went back to work, wondering what the general wanted from him.

Twice Starscream tried to contact him, going from cheerful to concerned.  Silverbolt refused to answer.

He headed for the rec room after his shift ended.  Reaching the administrative building, he flew to the balcony and landed. Flightspeed and Bluestreak walked up just as he headed in. Seeing him, Flightspeed asked, “Enjoy the spa?” His field flared with amusement. “Starscream said you both left very relaxed.”

Bluestreak looked from his partner to his friend. Silverbolt pulled his own field in tight, wondering in bleak scorching humiliation just how many mechs got a laugh from finding out that Starscream finally maneuvered the younger flier into his berth, and kept going. But that silent field gave him away. “Wait. Silverbolt, wait,” Bluestreak called.  Silverbolt sped up, not ready to talk about the matter to even a sympathetic ear. The door-winged mech sent a worried com, but Silverbolt turned the corner almost running and refused to answer.

In from of the rec room, he stopped and drew in air before walking in as usual and heading for the dispenser, calculating how much was left in his account. He would have enough to pay for his energon at the rec room until he got his next allotment.  He remembered how he saved for so long to afford the baths. For the first time bitter anger rose-all that work and anticipation for a relaxing, quiet time ruined by Starscream. He pinged the dispenser and drew a cube, getting a notice that it deducted the charge from his account and telling him what was left in it. The response surprised him. The spa had not taken the payment out yet. He would have to be very careful not to overspend if he didn’t want to go empty a few orns.   He blew air from his vents and looked around for Strika, wondering again what she wanted.  

Instead he got a com. “Starscream is looking for you,” she said when he answered.  “Meet me here.” She indicated a meeting room not far from the rec room. “I’ve already drawn a cube.”  He slipped out, refusing another ping from Starscream, and found her sipping at her cube. Her field was pensive.  “I believe we’ll be private here,” she said as he came in and shut the door behind him. “I heard you hadn’t chosen a partner yet, but there seems to be something between you and Starscream.” She waited.

“We ‘faced yesterday and it was my first time,” Silverbolt admitted, “but that doesn’t mean he owns me. “ No matter what Starscream thinks, he thought savagely.  “I’ve made it clear I’m not ready to settle down yet.”

“I see,” she said. “I would appreciate a quiet introduction to the Temple. I understand you have a brother there.”

He nodded, relieved. “I’d be happy to go with you. I haven’t seen Skydive in quite a while, and he told me I could visit anytime.  Would you like me to alert him that we are coming?”

She nodded. “Please do. They know why I am coming, but I never set a specific time.” Silverbolt contacted Skydive, who spoke to someone and told Silverbolt both of them were welcome to come anytime in the next few joors. They left as soon as they downed their cubes. 

When they reached the Temple, Skydive waited beside the priest on guard duty and waved Silverbolt to an empty chapel.  The novice to Primus said to Strika, “General, come this way.” Silverbolt went into the chapel and knelt, soaking in the peace and feeling it lessen his distress.  Skydive came in and knelt with him. When they rose, he said, “I could tell something’s wrong. Want to talk? I have time.”

“Thanks,” Silverbolt said with feeling. “First, how are you?” He looked his brother over.

Skydive said simply, “It’s hard work, but I love it. I’m sorry that I left you to deal with Starscream, though. What happened?” Silverbolt told him. Skydive flared his field, worry and rage rising. “Did he force you, threaten you at all?”

“No,” Silverbolt said. “ I mean, he might have seduced me, but I knew what was going on. I just feel like an idiot. One cube of high grade and a soak, and I fall into his berth like one of the pleasurebots they talk about on the old helofilms. But that’s not the problem.”  He stopped.

“But?” Skydive prompted.

His brother sought the right words, finally admitting, “It’s me. I had no control at all. Starscream seemed to think it settled everything, like one ‘face meant I agreed to be his partner.” He walked out of the chapel into the main room. “But if he starts touching me again, I’m not sure I can say no.”

Skydive considered. “I’ll talk to the others about it, see what they say,” he offered. “How’s Fireflight doing?” They greeted one of Skydive’s mentors walking through the lobby.  He gave them a keen look, but kept going.

“Not any better.” Silverbolt remembered how ill Fireflight felt the last time he saw his brother. “Hoist said it’s a problem with some first time carriers, but it makes Thundercracker fuss over him, and he gets tired of it. He comes over and stays with me sometimes. ” He sighed as he got another com from Starscream, beginning to get shrill.  “That’s Starscream.  I need to talk to him.”

 “Tell him to come here,” Skydive suggested. “He can’t shove you in a corner and play with your wires around here, can he? “ Silverbolt nodded and opened up, explaining where he was and asked Starscream to meet him there, adding that he accompanied Strika there and was waiting for her. “He’s coming but he doesn’t like it,” he told his brother.

Starscream landed outside the temple. Silverbolt walked out to meet him, asking the door guard, “Will you let the general know I’m out here?” At the priest’s nod, he walked to stand at the edge of the alcove where the Air Commander could see him.

Striding up to Silverbolt, Starscream demanded, “Did you decide you have a vocation now?” Silverbolt shook his head, and Starscream’s wings relaxed just a little. “So why haven’t you answered my coms?” He moved a little closer, and caught Silverbolt’s field. He frowned. “What’s got you so upset?”

Silverbolt summoned outrage. “Did you tell every Seeker you came across how you finally got me in your berth? Bragg about how easy it was with a little high grade?” he asked.

“The common response was, ‘about time’,” the Air Commander informed him, frowning.  “Why did you go to the oil baths except to look for an interface? That’s why they’re so popular. You soak, you relax, and you have a good overload or three.”

“I was looking for some quiet time alone,” Silverbolt said, feeling desolate.  He walked to the end of the alcove and looked down into the emptiness surrounding the Temple. No one bothered to tell him, figuring he must know already.  “I asked for the time they were the slowest, and went then. I saved for over a groon to afford it, and asked for a free orn.”   His wings sagged.  “What’s so wrong with wanting a free vorn?” he asked the emptiness forlornly. “What’s wrong with just a short time not being responsible for someone, to just have some time living on my own?”

Behind him he heard Starscream approach.  “And what’s wrong with enjoying some physical pleasure along the way?” the Air Commander asked him, his voice unusually gentle. “Besides, word got out about where you were going.  I kept a group or two of Seekers from bothering you by going myself. Better only me, don’t you think?”   He stepped closer. “It did occur to me to find out if we were compatible,” he added.

Silverbolt looked at him, puzzled. “I don’t understand,” he said. The light from the temple framed the Seeker, making his expression hard to see.

“Some mechs aren’t made to be lovers,” Starscream said simply. “They just don’t mesh. But you,” his voice softened, and Silverbolt shivered despite himself, “I’ve heard it’s the quiet ones that hide passion but I never believed it until now. “ He laughed at Silverbolt’s surprise and let his field flare with an amused tenderness. “What, did you think interfacing is always like that?”

“It was my first time,” Silverbolt reminded him.

Starscream blew air out of his vents. “I forget how young you are sometimes. Sweetspark, that was not at all normal. Not since Skydive have I has such an intense ‘face.” Silverbolt felt the pain and regret in his field as he remembered his former friend and lover.   He reached out, but Silverbolt twisted away from him. “What is wrong with you?”  he flared, frustrated. “We meshed like two parts of a whole! I don’t remember a night like that in all my years of ‘facing. Why are you so upset?”

“It was too much,” the younger flier burst out. “I’ve never lost control like that before.  And all it took was a cube of high grade, didn’t it??”  Despite his best effort, a keen escaped him.  “You think that’s something to be proud of, tricking me into your berth?”

“Are you accusing me of rape?” Starscream asked.  

He heard the horror in Starscream’s voice. “No,” Silverbolt said, calming down.  “No, I knew what we were doing.  But I was overcharged, and you knew it.”

Starscream stepped closer, not quite crowding Silverbolt. “I would have stopped,” he said. Silverbolt nodded. “Look, I know you aren’t ready to partner yet. “

“Then why are you pushing him?” Strika asked behind him. She walked over. “I would like an escort back, Silverbolt. “

“Certainly, General,” Silverbolt said. Starscream followed on the silent trip back. Silverbolt wondered what Strika needed to discuss with the priests in the temple.  She headed for the administrative building and landed close to a group of mechs talking outside the temporary quarters. Silverbolt and Starscream landed nearby.  She looked over at the mechs , who looked back, curious.

“Silverbolt,” she said, “I was going to make this offer privately, but under the circumstances, “ she gave Starscream a hard look, “I want witnesses.  I discovered that I am able to bud. However, Iacon is not an ideal place to raise a sparkling. Therefore I ask that you consider joining Obsidian and I as a trine partner, to care for all of our sparklings.  Please come in and discuss this matter with me.”

Silverbolt followed her, well aware of Starscream’s seething field behind him. Hope bloomed in him.  When they reached her quarters, he told her, “I’m listening.”

“Both Obsidian and I can bud,” she told him. “We do need someone to care for any sparklings we bud. I spoke to several mechs, and they said you’re good with sparklings.” Originally, she only wanted to ask that he consider opening a center to care for sparklings like hers, whose creators were needed in other areas.

Silverbolt listened, liking the idea. Current arrangements for sparkling care left much to be desired. “I know that Prime and the Lord Protector are discussing building schools,” Silverbolt said, “but no one’s talked about a center for the newest sparklings, and there’s certainly a need. “

“Excellent,” she said. “I will speak to the Lord Protector regarding the matter, if you will arrange a meeting with the Prime on the matter. “ She paused. “My offer should keep Starscream off your back as long as you need, and we would be happy to welcome you into a personal as well as a business partnership.”

Silverbolt put in the applications the next day. The Prime called him in and discussed the idea with him for some time, bringing in Long Haul and Bluestreak at one point. Both expressed enthusiasm at the hope of having consistent care for their sparklings.  The Lord Protector and Strika appeared, and in the end the project became an administrative one. 

Silverbolt’s replacement, a heliformer neutral from Iacon, showed up and Silverbolt trained him, gradually turning the work over to him and moving into quarters in the administrative area.  Within a few deca-cycles, Silverbolt walked through a building with Long Haul, Thundercracker, and Fireflight, talking about what renovations the various areas needed, holding a datapad with several possibilities for caretakers. Some were creators who held positions almost any other mech could manage; some were grunts who cared for sparklings in their spare time, like Silverbolt. Bluestreak worked with a mech to build a program to handle the administrative work.

Through it all, Starscream, Strika and Obsidian paid court to Silverbolt. Both Strika and Obsidian enjoyed giving Starscream a run for his credits, though they made it clear to Silverbolt that their offer was serious after a trial interface. Silverbolt enjoyed it, but it gave him mixed feelings compared to the memory of his interface with Starscream.

Thundercracker came to him soon after the project started. “Fireflight’s having trouble,” he said. “I can’t watch him like he needs. Can he work with you? “

Silverbolt found out what Thundercracker meant. “They’re going to take him,” Fireflight confided one evening after they finished their shift and pulled a cube at the Seeker’s quarters. The other Seeker left him alone when the rivalry between  Strika and Starscream started, and Silverbolt felt safe there now.

“Take who?” Silverbolt asked.

“Take my sparkling,” Fireflight said, looking around. “I know it. Please stay with me when I bud, “Bolt, until I can defend him! “ No amount of logic helped. Hoist and Glit could only say it was the carrying and Fireflight would recover his processor when he budded. Silverbolt took Fireflight to see Skydive, but the Temple priests could do nothing either.

When the building stood ready except for the final fittings, Silverbolt got a com from a terrified Fireflight. He tore into the infirmary to hear Fireflight screaming at Thundercracker. “Get away! I can’t let you have her, I can’t, they’ll take her away from you.”   He caught sight of Silverbolt. “Help me!” he shrieked at his brother.

Silverbolt hurried over. “We’ll both keep him safe,” he said, soothing his frightened brother.

“If I deactivate, you’ll take care of her?” Fireflight demanded as Glit came in.

“No one’s going to deactivate,” Glit said, and Fireflight started screaming again. Glit hissed and left. Hoist came in, disapproval radiating from his field, but he reined it in when he saw Fireflight’s real distress.  

“Don’t let them take her,” Fireflight begged, and keened.  Hoist got him calmed down.  Fireflight’s torso bulged, and suddenly erupted. Silverbolt looked at down at a tiny femme, dark blue and red, that squirmed and started to fuss. Hoist scooped her up when Fireflight’s torso erupted again, this time with a pale blue mech. 

“Take her,” Hoist said briefly, shoving the femme to Silverbolt, handed the other sparkling to Thundercracker, and shoved them out of the way to work on Fireflight.

“Don’t let them take her,” Fireflight whimpered, pushing at Hoist, who stumbled back. The medic moved for restraints as Fireflight wailed and the sparklings wailed with him. Thundercracker tried to speak over them and Fireflight got worse.

“I will not allow anyone to take my trinemate’s sparklings,” Starscream boomed from the door.  “Skywarp and I will guard them.” That calmed the new creator enough that Hoist shot him a grateful look before telling them to get out.

“No, no, don’t let them out-“ Fireflight shrieked.

“They have to bath the little ones,” Hoist began, but Silverbolt interrupted.

“No. Thundercracker, give me our little mech and go get what we need,” Silverbolt said, suddenly feeling the same calm he got in battle. He gathered his calm and flared his field, which calmed the sparklings and Fireflight. “They’re right here, ‘Flight, I’ll have them and Starscream will stay to make sure we’re okay.” He moved where Fireflight could see him and the sparklings in his arms. Fireflight panted but let Hoist work over him.  Starscream and Skywarp took position near the door as Thundercracker left.  He came back with blankets, a small tub filled with solvent and sparkling energon. Silverbolt washed the sparklings and showed Thundercracker how to feed one as he fed the other, before wrapping both in blankets.  By that time a relieved Hoist had their creator stabilized.

“I didn’t know we could bud more than one at a time,” he admitted as he hooked an energon drip to Fireflight’s arm. “That might explain why you had such a hard time. Bring the little ones,” he said to Silverbolt, “that will help all of them settle.  Someone needs to stay with them for the next few days, ‘Flight’s going to be very weak.”  With one sparkling in each arm, Fireflight slid into recharge.

Thundercracker took the first watch, but every time the sparklings whimpered he called Silverbolt in a panic. After a time, Silverbolt commed Starscream. “Please come and get him, offer him a cube of the strongest high grade you can find and then ‘face him through the berth,” he requested.

“Why?” Starscream asked, startled.

“To help him relax. Worked for me, didn’t it?” Starscream hissed with laughter. After a time, Skywarp popped in, grabbed a startled Thundercracker, and popped out.

Glit appeared at the door with a cube and Silverbolt accepted it. “You did very well,” the cassette-cleaner medic told him. “Hoist said if you hadn’t gotten them calmed down, we’d have lost ‘Flight, and might have lost the sparklings. Where did Thundercracker go?” Silverbolt told him and he laughed. “Good idea. Call me if you need anything. Hopefully he’ll be over his paranoia by the time he recovers.”

Silverbolt sipped the cube when he left, and thought over what happened that day.  After a time, he contacted Strika and Obsidian by com.  Starscream showed up in a few joors. “Thundercracker’s recharging, too,” he said quietly, and offered a cube. Silverbolt refused, explaining why.  The Air Commander looked over at the two little forms in Fireflight’s arms. “Are they always that small?” he asked.

Silverbolt let the amusement in his field flare. “Not for long,” he said. “They grow fast.”

Starscream fell silent for a time. Then he said, “I would do almost anything if you will partner with me.”

“Will you treat me like a partner and not like a possession?” Silverbolt asked.  He knew what his answer would be now. Strika and Obsidian had to stay in Iacon, and Silverbolt could not join them there.  Like it or not, he needed someone who could protect him here in Kaon.  He assured them that he would still take care of any of their offspring with his own, and they accepted his decision. Silverbolt bade a regretful farewell to that particular dream, and said, “All right then. I accept.”

 


	7. Come home, said the Deepticons to Bumblebee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two gestalts and a young mech from Cybertron go after some rogues on Earth. Both sides find the encounter disturbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a time jump, to where the older sparklings are now grown to younglings and beginning careers. In the meantime, a few mechs who managed to stay on Earth run into some problems and call for help. They aren't pleased with the help they get.

Tronis studied the scanner carefully before leaving the base. Onslaught and the Combaticons left a joor ago to chase down one report, and the Constructicons headed on another. He felt no guilt at all in leaving the base. They told him to act as the central contact between the two teams; he could hunt and maintain that contact easily.  Not for nothing did he spend a few joors with Soundwave, who kept up with communications updates on every planet they encountered, especially the one they traded with.

 He surveyed the area for organics and carefully transformed, relieved he completed the action without trouble. His new alt mode, a hovercraft, was common for delivery vehicles in this area, which dealt with slick surface areas due to frozen precipitation at times.  He reviewed the rules for driving in the area, reviewed the local terrain, and drove off.

His sire sent out the Constructicons and the Combaticons because they were gestalts, but failed to state why this was important.  He said he did not want the Prime to know about the mission because the idea of rogue Cybertronians upset him. Better for him know who was sent, the Lord Protector said to his offspring, until they came back with the rogues in custody. The Prime would know when the mechs were processed.

Long ago Tronis found out that when his sire said not to bother his creator over anything, it meant not that his creator would be upset about the situation, but unhappy about how his sire dealt with the matter. So Tronis made sure that the assignment paperwork crossed the desk of one of his creator’s informants. Soon after, he discovered to his glee that he was personally assigned to the mission.

His sire instructed him to stay on the ship or the base and let the experienced fighters handle the mission. “I know you need seasoning like your creator says,” Lord Protector Megatron said, “but these are experienced fighters, probably desperate, and there is no sense in a mech your age and inexperience fighting them. Stay on the ship or base, monitor and act as the anchor and communications base for the teams, and stay out of their way. “

His creator gave him different instructions. “I have reason to suspect who these mechs are,” he said, and Tronis felt the sad concern in his field. “If I am correct, and the Combaticons or the Constructicons find them, I fear for everyone concerned.  Try to find them first. If they look like this,” he sent a databurst, “speak to them. They might listen to you. They won’t hurt you.” He vented and sent a download. “If they do not look like these mechs, then get out and contact the others as fast as possible. Your sire is correct on one point. Do not engage except in self-defense. You cannot hope to win against any mech who fought in the war.” He laid his servo on his offspring’s shoulder. He had to reach up to do it.  “Come back safe to me, my child, and try to limit the damage. “ He considered, and gave his son a little more advice. “These mechs treasure the planet they are on and the organics on it. If you damage the organics, they will not trust you.”

Tronis left his creator with wildly mixed feelings- pride in being chosen, worry of failing, determination to make both his parents proud somehow. Not until they reached space and he quit looking out Blast Off’s view screens in fascination did he start to wonder why his creator suspected who these mechs were and why they would fight the older fighters but would not hurt him. Sire and his top aides did not like organics, though they traded with several; the Prime’s staff in Iacon managed the negotiations.  He reviewed the information from his sire and then his creator, and decided that the mechs were rogues only because they preferred to remain on an organic world. His creator clearly saw nothing wrong with this and therefore said nothing. Sire believed that all Cybertronians needed to work on the rebuilding of their damaged planet, so any mechs refusing to come home and assist must be rogues.

He could see both sides. On the one hand, both Iacon and Kaon still possess ruined areas and needed work, with Vos being added to the cities being worked on. They needed all of Primus’ children to help. On the other servo, was it worth the effort for between four and eight mechs, who clearly were not causing any problems on the planet? Why spend credits on such a small group of mechs? What brought them to his sire’s attention?

The governments they traded with on the planet denied knowing of any Cybertronians living there.  Hopefully, that meant no trouble from them.

 Bored now, restless, and finding that his tank felt very empty, he headed for the rec room and the energon dispenser. Standing outside the door, he heard Vortex say, “Did the distress signal say which one was hurt?” Distress signal? Everyone failed to mention that little fact- as did the situation report on his datapad.

“No, just that some were and asking for some basic medicals supplies, that the patches made from the human materials weren’t holding up for long,” Hook said. “Why they thought we’d bring supplies and not just bring them home, I don’t know. “ Then Blast Off said something, and they shut up. He walked in and headed for the dispenser.

“Hey, Tronis,” Brawl bellowed- he never seemed to speak in anything lower than a shout- “You remember what the Lord Protector told you. You stay here!”

“In Blast Off? What if you need to form Bruticus?” Tronis asked, and the tankformer scowled.

“We are being given a temporary base by a friendly human government,” Onslaught said, glaring at the much younger mech. “You will remain there until we return. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Tronis said. Onslaught nodded and stomped out. Arrogant scrap heap, Tronis thought.  He disliked all of the Combaticons but Vortex. Onslaught and Brawl cared not one bent credit about anyone’s welfare but their own. They spent more time in the mines than on Cybertron because on Cybertron they kept getting into fights. Blast Off was more civilized but arrogant. Tronis thought   Swindle was like a glitch mouse- always in the shadows. He knew Swindle managed half the shady businesses in Kaon, but no one ever managed to prove anything. Only Vortex was decent, something the older carriers shook their heads in wonder about. Tronis knew he used to be as bad as or worse than Brawl and Onslaught, and wondered what happened to him, but the conversations always shut down before he managed to find out, and his files sat under some kind of security lock.

The older mechs did everything they could to keep him from scanning an alt mode (the road in front of the base stayed busy with vehicular traffic and he scanned a good one in a few seconds), made sure that all information came through Blast Off (like that could hide anything, since they had to use it too), and tried to keep him from knowing where they were going (until he pointed out that his position as liaison between the two teams meant that he had to know).  Onslaught and Scrapper admitted that they could not have gotten the concessions that Tronis managed from the humans (coached by Bluestreak).  He gathered the reports and worked with them to figure out the most likely areas to search.  Most looked remote from human settlements. 

He wondered why they completely ignored the most obvious area based on their information. While the scans reported nothing showing Cybertronian spark signatures or energon use, other information was compelling. It wasn’t far from a human settlement, but if there were the mechs his creator thought, then such a base made sense. Reports said that a special unit often responded to wildfires out of control and similar situations, when other human attempts to stop the disaster ended.  He noted that deliveries appeared at this warehouse afterward.  Recently a company dropped off a load of strong metals here.  It was only a joor from the base, according to the GPS system he linked into.  He drove the route given, observing all the traffic rules to avoid notice, until he cleared the human traffic areas and sped down a deserted road. 

The area seemed to be an abandoned human settlement. Just as he reached the general area, Scrapper pinged him to let him know they got a spark signature and might have one mech soon; Onslaught pinged soon after to say they had a set of mechs in sight. Tronis pulled off the road and behind a group of tall plants.  Just as he finished logging the reports, he heard noise on the road, and watched as two vehicles drove up, coming from different directions. He thanked Primus he had pulled off the road.  He researched the vehicles via the local information network. One was a vehicle used for fighting fires and other disasters, while the other was a standard hover car, like most of the ones Tronis saw on the roads here, though the colors were an unusual yellow and black. Considering that this location was essentially deserted, he wondered why they were there.

Then they transformed.  Both looked like mechs from his creator’s download.

TRTR

Smokescreen crouched in his cave and watched the Constructicons draw into a half-circle below him. He thought he was just out of Devastator’s reach. He hoped. He came out to scout for one of the jobs they were considering and got caught out in the open. He managed to climb into this cave before they got too close. It was in a good spot; the holds he used to climb up wound never hold one of the Constructicons without crumbling. He would have a hard time getting down, but they would have a harder time getting to him. 

Not that it would do him a lot of good, when he thought about it. Why did Defensor have to get injured?  Beachcomber warned those young idiots not to get too close to the volcano; it was going to blow any minute! Groove and Blades lay in their berths, barely hanging on despite everything First Aid could do. That they still functioned at all said volumes about the young medic’s skill. That meant Defensor was out of action. Well, they knew the risks when they agreed to send out the distress call, and the odds just did not come up in their favor. He called Beachcomber.  “Hey, guys,” he said, “we've got a problem.”

“You too?” Beachcomber said, and his despair came over easily. “The Constructicons just showed up. What’s your situation?”

He told them where he was. “Where are you?” he asked.

“Just finished that job we got last week,” Seaspray said grimly. “You know, that swamp area? We’re in woods too thick for them to get to him, but they look fueled up. Even if we make it to the water, with the low rations we’ve been getting since the converter started glitching, I don’t know how long we can hold out.  ”

Smokescreen understood. All the Combaticons had to do was wait them out. He was in the same fix. Much as he hated to do it, he called the Protectobot base and got Streetwise.

TRTR

Tronis met a few recovering Empties in his life. These mechs reminded him of them.  They transformed smoothly but slowly, as though conserving energy. While they did not act or look starved, they did look underfueled and worn. Their paint jobs looked dull, and they moved in a way that made him wonder how much maintenance they got.

“Hi, Hot Spot. How are they doing?” the yellow and black mech asked.

“The patches are holding so far, Bee,” the fire truck sighed. “How are our supplies holding out?”

“I got a little extra out of the converter today.” He produced a few cubes, after assuring the fire truck that he already fueled that day. “Heard anything yet?” A breeze blew up, making the plant growth wave.

“No,” Hot Spot said forlornly, and a keen escaped him. “Aid gets more and more upset; he says if we just had some basic medical supplies, he could fix them in no time, but without nanites or good material their self- repair just isn't enough. The patches they have now are holding, but we won’t have enough for more of that metal he needs until we get paid for those last two jobs.”

“Beachcomber’s finishing that ecological survey with Seaspray now,” Bee said. “That should help.”

Hot Spot started to pace. Dead organic pieces crunched under his pedes. Tronis thought it sounded weird. “I hate that you guys have to carry us like this, but we can’t take on any of the higher paying jobs if we can’t form Defensor.” Gestalt! This was a gestalt! So that’s why they sent to Constructicons and the Combaticons! That made sense now.  

The other reached out and gripped the blue and black mech’s shoulders, extending a field of sympathy.  “I know. That’s why we agreed to the distress signal.  We all agreed it was worth the risk of the Decepticons intercepting it. ” He looked around and vented. “ I love this planet, but it just doesn’t have everything we need, and we haven’t heard from the others in a long time. ”

Others?  Tronis wondered if he meant the mechs the others were stalking right now.  But who was the distress call to? Did they think there was an Autobot force out there, separate from the ones integrating from Cybertron?

“I know,” Hot Spot said, “but we can’t keep going like this. With the converter glitching and without supplies, we’re going to all fall apart soon and it won’t matter if the Decepticons find us or not. At least we’d find out what happened to the others.”

Looking at them, listening to them, Tronis understood why his sire sent a force here, and why his creator allowed it.  He understood why his creator wanted him to speak to them first. They desperately needed carriers, and he knew without any doubt at all that these were carriers. Everything about them shouted that these mechs would get the carrier programming, even though the fire truck had red optics.   

While Tronis saw the results of the Great War all around him at home, he still struggled with the obvious fear these mechs had of his sire and the Decepticons.  Decepticons protected carriers and sparklings. Carriers were the only hope of Cybertron to survive. 

Tronis made up his mind. He needed to convince these mechs that there was no longer a reason to fear coming home to Cybertron.  He rolled out of his hiding spot and transformed. Not until he stood towering over the two smaller mechs did he realize his mistake.

TRTR

The Constructicons rolled into Devastator. Sure enough, Smokescreen’s hiding place was just out of reach. He risked popping out and firing. Devastator slammed a fist into the cliff wall and nearly threw him out, and the shots went wild. He checked his fuel levels. He had just enough for maybe two more shots, enough to hurt one or two of them and that was it. Devastator fell apart again. Smokescreen waited for the firing to start. Instead Scrapper called, “The war’s over, mech.  Come down and come home to Cybertron.”

Smokescreen snarled, “You want me, come and get me.”

“If we intended to kill you, we’d be firing at you now,” Hook pointed out.  Then they started taking turns talking, and showing holograms. Smokescreen listened and watched, getting more and more baffled. He passed on what he was getting to Streetwise.

“Vortex and Swindle are talking to Seaspray and Beachcomber,” Streetwise told him. “Another mech showed up and started talking to Hot Spot and Bumblebee. He’s younger than we are, Smokey. He’s younger than Silverbolt and his group. Basically, he’s saying he’s Optimus Prime’s kid.”

TRTR

The mechs looked so much like carriers that the weapons they pulled blindsided him. They moved so fast, as fast as a trained Decepticon warrior!  Tronis’ training flew out of his processor . Even the small mech Bumblebee’s weapons looked huge, when it was pointed at him. His creator and sire were so right, he realized in that astrosecond. He was no match at all for these experienced fighting mechs.

He never reached for his weapon. No one drew a weapon on a carrier.  Brawl threatened one, once. His sire sent him to the mines partly for his own safety- he got death threats. It wasn’t done!

Tronis thanked Primus that no one else was there to see him throw his arms over his head and shout, “Wait- wait-Bah-weep-Graaaaagnah wheep mini bong!”

After a astrosecond or two of silence, he lowered his arms cautiously and looked at them. The weapons still pointed his way. “Who are you,” Bee asked, “and what do you want with us?”  Tronis could feel their confused fields. He also felt cautious hope from the larger mech.

“I’m Tronis,” he said. “I have basic medical supplies at my base.” That got Hot Spot’s attention, but they still looked wary. “Listen to me, the war’s over, the sides are integrated now, we’re rebuilding.” Wrong thing to say, he discovered quickly, as the two mechs started to back up. He sought desperately for ideas. “The Prime asked me to talk to you.”

That stopped them. “What Prime?” Bumblebee asked.

They were interrupted by a black and white vehicle driving up and transforming.  “I’ve heard from Smokescreen, and the others,” he said. His field was agitated, roiling with fear and hope mixed. “He said he’s cornered by the Constructicons, and the Combaticons have Seapray and Beachcomber pinned.

“Decepticon,” Bumblebee said, his field filling with despair. His weapon came up again. “I should have known.”

“I’m a Cybertronian,” Tronis said with all the dignity he could muster.  They looked at each other and back at him.  He drew in air slowly, wary of the weapons. “Kaon and Iacon are almost completely rebuilt. We’re starting on Vos. The Prime and the Lord Protector guide us. Everyone works together. ”

“What Prime?” Bumblebee asked again.

Tronis showed him a hologram of his creator. “Optimus Prime, keeper of the Matrix of Purification,” he said with pride. “Our representative from Primus.” And the one who keeps the planet running, he thought. His sire might lead, but his creator saw that the orn-to- orn work got done.  The air moved again, slapping a limb of one of the organic plants against Tronis. He pushed it away, annoyed, but tried not to break it, remembering what his creator said about the mechs here.  

 “That’s what they’re telling Smokescreen and the others.  They’re saying something about being changed, that the Prime and Megatron are working together to rebuild, that everyone’s integrated now with no more factions. ” Streetwise looked uncertain.

“We’re supposed to believe that?” Bumblebee asked, making no secret of his scorn.

“Have they attacked?” Tronis asked him, exasperated.

Streetwise went on, “Hook and Long Haul are showing him holograms of them and Hoist and Grappler with little mechs they say are sparklings.” Hot Spot sounded hopeful and conflicted at the same time.

 “They’re lying. Silverbolt’s team and the Protectobots were the last sparks we got from Vector Sigma. ” Bumblebee said. “So how could they have sparklings?” Hot Spot looked at him and evidently said something through a private com. He looked surprised.

 “New offspring are made by budding.” Tronis said. These were grown mechs and they didn’t know about budding? The wind blew again, raining bits from the rooted organic life around them. Tronis thought he’d never seen so much green in his life. Some of it stuck to his plating and he brushed at it. “Where else would they come from? “ Did they believe that sparks were granted directly from Primus into shells build by the creators? Nobody believed that old myth anymore.

“Budding?” Hot Spot asked blankly. “What’s that?”

They did believe those old legends.  “Have you been in a black hole for the last few stellar cycles?” Tronis asked testily. “Look.” He showed them a hologram of Grapple and Hook with their youngest sparkling.  “That’s Clutch,” he said. “He’s a servo-full, always trying to climb something the astrosecond you take your optics off him. Knocked down a viewer in the Archive not too long ago. My friend Boost was supposed to be watching him and Soundwave told him off in front of everybody.”  Tronis still remembered that orn in the Archives.

They looked at the hologram. They studied Tronis, which mad him uncomfortable.  “And you?” Hot Spot asked. “If everyone’s integrated, why didn’t they send an Autobot?  Where were you during the war? Were you a neutral?”

Tronis huffed indignantly. “I was budded after the war. My creator is Optimus Prime. He asked me to talk to you. He couldn’t send any of the former Autobots because all of them have offspring and he couldn’t ask them to leave the sparklings.”  For the first time, he understood how his sire got frustrated with his creator’s desire to persuade instead of order.

“We got a transmission from Seaspray and Beachcomber,” he said. “They were working together on that clean-up project after the earthquake and they got cornered by the Combaticons.”

“Combaticons!” the two mechs chorused in identical horror.

“And Vortex walked up, hands up, and told them he had no weapons and they could scan him to prove it. Then he sat down and just started talking about being purified and about sparklings and that Cybertron needed every mech to come home. He sat where if the other Combaticons shot, they’d hit him before they hit them. Like he was protecting them. “

“None of this makes sense,” Bumblebee said plaintively.  “Vortex, protecting them? The Constructicons showing holograms? And sparklings coming from creators.”

As he spoke, something pattered down around them. Drops struck Tronis. Precipitation! Acid rain still fell in Cybertron, but he knew to look for the forecasts there. For an astrosecond he started to panic, only to see that none of the others seemed to care. He looked at his arm, and noted liquid. It did not hurt, but he found the sensation annoying. “Oh, for Primus’ sake!” he burst out. “Look at you, all of you.  When’s the last time you’ve had a full ration of energon or a good overhaul? You have two mechs in bad shape because you can’t get medical supplies. Cybertron needs every mech to rebuild. Why can’t you get that through your processors that you need to come home?”

TRTR

Smokescreen made his decision when First Aid commed everyone that he could not pull Blades from stasis. They were out of options. Still, these Decepticons knew nothing about Rodimus Prime and the other Autobots. The Autobots in space needed to be informed of the situation, and then all proof of the existence of the Autobots in space and Rodimus Prime needed to be erased. He contacted Streetwise.

Soon after, he walked to the edge of the cave. They stopped talking and formed Devastator, who held up his arms. Smokescreen took all of his courage into his servos and stepped down, letting the gestalt catch him. But they kept their word, doing no more than disabling his weapons and offering him a full cube of energon. Then, with Smokescreen in the middle of a formation, they moved out.

TRTR

First Aid commed in a panic while Tronis tried to explain Cybertron’s new government, saying that Blades went into stasis. As they hurried to the Protectobot base, they all agreed with Smokescreen. One of them had to destroy information on Rodimus Prime and the Autobots in space. Bumblebee volunteered.

He drove with Tronis and Hot Spot to the Protectobot’s base to fetch the two wounded mechs and First Aid. When Tronis left, carrying Groove, with First Aid taking Blades, he led the others off, heading for the Decepticon temporary base.  Bumblebee slipped off and drove back to the Protectobot station. There was no time for niceties; he blew the circuits of all the electronic equipment that might carry any usable information before heading as fast as he could manage for the communications back-up center in the hopes of having more time to work.

When the Decepticons swept up the other Autobots, the ones who loved Earth best managed to hide with their humans allies. The Witwicky family helped them set up a company where they provided various services at good prices. The last Witwicky died some time ago. The company survived, handling all business via the interplanetary communications systems that grew from the World Wide Web back when they first arrived.  

The remaining Autobots on Earth also acted as liaisons for the Autobots who escaped in Skyfire. Wheeljack and Hound cooked up that illusion between them, and it almost killed Hound, but it worked to keep the Decepticons from taking Skyfire or following him to the new base. Bumblebee still remembered his shock when they heard Hot Rod became Rodimus Prime. His shock, and his grief, since he and the others assumed that Optimus Prime was dead.

Then the new threat materialized in space, one that threatened Cybertron, Earth, and their new base. Rodimus Prime led his group in containing the Quinessions, working with allies of several other species. While none of the remaining mechs wanted to leave Earth, they intended to join the fight once they heard of it. Unfortunately, there was the little problem of transportation. The Autobots needed supplies from Earth, and Cosmo, who ferried them, never had room for both supplies and passengers.

 Instead they stayed on Earth, contracting with companies for services and using the money to buy supplies. In return, they got materials needed to keep them maintained. The eight of them settled, not unhappily, on Earth to relay the supplies and work with their human allies.

When Rodimus needed Cosmo elsewhere, another humanoid allied species handled the supplies runs. Contacts came few and far between. The delivery of the supplies dropped, and their situation worsened slowly, until Bumblebee and the others requested pickup, and explained why.  Several times, word came to expect a shuttle; each time, the cancellation message arrived. When the converter started to glitch, they did not worry too unduly; it still made enough for their needs. The allies promised to deliver the message that they needed the metals for the part to fix the converter. They never heard back. When magma splashed Groove and Blades during a mission, they sent the distress call in desperation, knowing they risked Decepticon notice.

Bumblebee knew he had just enough fuel to get to the secondary station and do what needed to be done, but not enough to put up any kind of fight.  

 Tronis discovered his absence when they reached the base and called the Decepticon gestalts. “They know about the secondary station,” Hot Spot told him. “I saw his maps. This kid’s good. He never thought about searching for energon sensors or anything like that. He tracked metal shipments of the kinds we might use.” 

 Not long after that, Smokescreen warned him that both the Constructicons were on their way. ”Blast-Off dumped off Seaspray and Beachcomber on the Constructicons and took off again,” he said.

“Do you think they’re lying?” Bumblebee asked. “About the integration and all that?”

Smokescreen answered slowly, “No, they aren’t lying, at least I don’t think so. They disabled our weapons but nobody’s hurt, and we’ve all gotten a full cube. I might doubt the Constructicons, but I’m sure I’d know if that youngling was lying.  But something’s missing. Something they’re so used to that they haven’t thought to tell us and I don’t know enough to ask yet.  It worries me.”

Seaspray contacted him soon after.  “We’re all sure that they don’t know about Rodimus and his group. They think we got stuck here when the others left, and we need to stick to that. I don’t know how they’d react to knowing there’s still a fighting group of Autobots out there. We need to get word to Optimus somehow about that before we do anything else.” He paused. “I wish we could figure out what’s off about what they’re telling us.”

When he reached the station, Bumblebee figured that he would have just enough time to send the messages before the Constructicons were on him. He rushed into the station and got to work. He had the message to Rodimus sent off just in time to hear the roar of the shuttle’s arrival. As quickly as he could, he set the self-destruct, left, and transformed. He heard the explosion about two astroseconds before they came up behind him.

 He knew capture was inevitable; stasis threatened even as he tried to run, but seeing the Combaticons chasing him pulled up too many bad memory files, and he tried anyway. Brawl got in front of him. Bumblebee transformed and pulled his weapon. He got in one good shot, winging the much larger mech. Brawl tackled him, sending the blaster flying. Bumblebee fought back.  Brawl grabbed his arm and the smaller mech felt the strut break as the others roared up. Onslaught grabbed Brawl and hauled him off Bumblebee as Vortex and Swindle grabbed him. 

He stopped struggling when he realized that they holding him down and nothing else. He vented hard, feeling stasis threaten as they disabled his weapons and splinted his arm. Onslaught was bellowing at Brawl.  “You idiot!” he growled. “We were told to bring them in unharmed. You saw what kind of shape the others were in! We could have chased him for less than a joor and his fuel would run out.”  

Pain shot down his strut as Vortex and Swindle got Bumblebee to his pedes. They supported him into Blast Off and strapped him in, careful of the splint. “What happened to you?” he blurted out when Vortex handed him a cube.

“I was under the impression that Megatronis talked to you,” Blast Off observed as they took off. “Of course, to him the war is ancient history and he has a hard time understanding that everyone did not always live in the society he know. That is a problem with all the younglings. He thinks the idea of shells being built and given a spark is a myth, like the one on Earth about human larvae are found under vegetables.”

“Cabbage leaves,” Bumblebee mumbled. “Budded?”

“Save the history lesson for when we’re at the base,” Onslaught ordered. “You, Bug, drink the cube before you go into stasis.”

Bumblebee subsided and drank the cube. Quietly, Vortex offered to numb the pain receptors in his arm until they got to the base. The smaller mech shook his head. Too much was off about this. Decepticons, caring about what happened to an Autobot prisoner? Vortex, being kind? Onslaught, chewing out Brawl for being rough? What in the Pit was going on? What did these Decepticons want from him, from all of them?

Finally, a wild idea came to him, as he reviewed the talk with Tronis and listened to the Combaticons fussing at Brawl, who argued back that Bumblebee pulled a weapon and shot him. Then he huffed and said something about not knowing if Bumblebee would even get the programming. Vortex said, “All the other Autobots got it.” Then they noticed him looking over. “Finish that cube,” Onslaught said. For the rest of the ride they were quiet. Bumblebee finished the cube.

 Tronis said none of the former Autobots could come because they had sparklings. Bumblebee remembered  how Daniel and other fathers fussed over their pregnant wives or girlfriends. The idea sounded too wild to be real, but it sat in his processor as Blast Off  landed and Vortex unstrapped him carefully, taking care not to move his splinted strut.

 

 


	8. Blades makes his choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades enjoys Cybertron-except for the Seekers.

Blades hovered with his load, patiently waiting for the team to clear a space for the supplies he carried. They waved and got out of the way; when he got the set of containers on the ground, they ran forward and released the hooks. As he retracted the chain and stowed it into his subspace, the supervisor waved again and pointed at the ground. Blades transformed and landed gracefully on his pedes.  “Seeker came by and told us to give you this,” he said, and handed him a datapad. As Blades read it, the supervisor gave him a closer look, and recognition crept into his optic. “Hey, you’re one of the mechs from Earth, right?” 

Blades glanced up from the datapad, while several of the crew members paused in their work. “Yeah, what about it?” he asked, trying to be civil. The supervisor thought the datapad held another assignment. Blades wished it did.

“That little medic ‘s your brother? “ Blades nodded, feeling a little relieved and a little miffed at the same time. Everyone seemed to remember First Aid. “He worked on my arm not long ago,” the mech said, his voice warm and full of respect.  “Kind mech. Is it true he’s partner to Scavenger now?”

“Yeah, he got the programming a while ago,” Blades said. A lot of the mechs nodded in clear approval.  Cybertron’s ruins held a lot of valuable debris, and Scavenger found his skills in demand. The crews liked him.  Clearly, they enjoyed the idea of the two they all liked partnering. “Thanks for the datapad.”

Just before he jumped to transform and head out, he heard one say to another, “Who do you think he’ll wind up with?”

“One of the Seeker trines,” another responded. “They shove off any other mechs that get near a flyer.”

Blades kept going, feeling his denta grind. The grunt was right. If a possible carrier sported wings, rotors, or doorwings, the Seekers started courting, crowding out any grounder. The datapad held a reminder of a gathering at the home of Starscream’s trine, as he suspected it did. Starscream seemed to make getting Blades and Smokescreen partnered to Seekers as one of his current duties as Air Lord.

He complained to anyone who would listen that neither of them appreciated his efforts to find them compatible partners. He got no sympathy from anyone but other Seekers. Soundwave told him, “Air Commander, responsible for Seekers. Not responsible for helios and doorwings. Better to leave potential carriers alone and deal with Seekers.”  

Soon after their arrival to Cybertron, Optimus Prime arrived at the med-bay while all of the mechs from Earth got much-needed care and maintenance that First Aid lacked supplies for.  Hoist left and shut the door behind him.  “We are secure here,” Optimus told all of them via the com. Blades wondered at the change in him. He was smaller than before, but more imposing somehow. “Bumblebee tells me that the information regarding our fellow Autobots was destroyed. Thank you for that.” He paused to send them an information dump and let them absorb it. “Megatron is fulfilling Primus’s mandate to rebuild Cybertron while Hot Rod defends us,” he said. “For Megatron to return to war risks activating old behaviors. For this reason I do not others here to know of this war. These are the exceptions.” He listed them. “When your maintenance and updates are complete, I will send all of you with Megatronis to the Temple of Primus for an education on the current culture in Cybertron, after which all of you will be assigned mentors. “

The priests of Primus gave solid, factual advice. “All of you are potential carriers,” the older priest told them. “Legally, you can hold any position which your skills make you qualified. Culturally, the mechs on the street will refuse to allow a carrier to hold any position with risks,  so they can carry. The population of Cybertron is low, and only carriers can increase it until the sparklings are old enough to bud their own.”

They looked at each other. “But aren’t some Decepticons approved for carrying?” Hot Spot asked.

“Few neutrals and fewer Decepticons are approved for carrying, and we will not download the programming for them unless they have a cadre for support of the sparklings and the carrier.  Former Autobot carriers are in high demand as partners. Many are partners of high-ranking Decepticons. This means that the Autobot carriers are protected as the Decepticon and neutral carriers are not.”

They also consented to programming so that they could not discuss the existence of Rodimus Prime and his team.

Hot Spot had an option to blend in as the other did not. Soundwave appeared and took him to work with a search and rescue team of neutrals that worked on the outskirts of Vos, combing the ruins for Empties and getting them assistance.  The others met their mentors and left with them.

 Blades liked parties if they included the carriers and sparklings. The carriers kept an optic out to run interference if some eager suitor got pushy, and tried to limit introductions to Seekers they thought he would like.

Having a carrier partner made any mech look good, but while there were a few Seeker-grounder partners, the resulting offspring tended to be grounders.  For Seekers, only partners able to bud flyers, like helio or door-winged mechs, counted as satisfactory partners.

He knew for a fact that Silverblade, Fireflight, and Bluestreak took their offspring to a sparking day party at the Constructicon base for one of Hoist’s sparklings.  They  told him not to be in a hurry to choose a partner, no matter what the Seekers wanted. “You need to find a partner you can work with, one you can talk to,” Bluestreak told him. “A lot of Seekers have some kind of side business you could work in, but they don’t have as much time to court and they’ll wait to see what kind of mech you are. Take your time.”

Smokescreen accepted one invitation for a party without checking with Silverbolt or Bluestreak first and told Blades he was never doing that again. “I felt like a glitchmouse at the turbofox convention,” he said. “Dealing with Swindle is easier. He’s greedy but he’s more honest about his intentions than they are. “

Blades flew to his small apartment in the administrative section, sent a politely worded refusal to attend the party- his third, if he remembered correctly- and threw the datapad against the nearest wall. “Suck slag,” he snarled as he headed for the recreation room. Starscream or one of his trine might just show up to ‘escort’ him to the party, so he couldn’t stay at home. He doubted he could make it to the Archives without a trine showing up.  He pulled his energon ration and drank it as he mentally reviewed his credit balance. His current assignment came with quarters, and paid enough for his energon with just a little left over, but he did not have enough to get into one of the music houses or other entertainments.

 He hated to admit it even in his own processor, but he liked Cybertron. Sometimes he missed Earth, but his final memories involved short rations, hard work, and extreme pain.  They had to hide who they were, and the fear of Decepticon capture or going to war hung over them constantly. There was no war here, no worry over being discovered, and no shortage of energon. He loved being with other mechs, especially his former friends. He even enjoyed his delivery job, though he wished it paid more.

If only the stupid Seekers would be less pushy!

“Hey, Blades,” Streetwise commed him, “I’ve got the dispatch desk tonight. Could you come and keep me company? It’s been a quiet night so far.”

“Primus bless you,” Blades said with feeling. “I was wondering how to get away from the Seekers tonight. I’m on my way over.”  He trotted out of the rec room to a balcony and leaped out, heading for the Enforcement office.  He spent several joors with Streetwise, talking between his calls and bantering with the Enforcement officers who went in and out. He looked for one particular one, with no luck.

Tronis came by to bring Streewise a report and looked surprised to see Blades. “Hi, Blades.  Thought you were going to a party over in the Seeker compound. Heard some mechs talking about it.”

Streetwise said, “Silverbolt, Fireflight and Bluestreak are at a sparkling party at the Constructicon base. It won’t be over for a few more joors. “

“Oh. In that case, I understand.” All of them knew Starscream was supposed to protect Blades as well as Silverbolt. All of them knew better; while Starscream would never let any mech harm a potential carrier, he would try to push Blades to allow more loyal trines to court him. “Do you want me to escort you home?” he offered. Tronis was supposed to be learning about enforcement as a normal patrol officer, but he knew that no mech would bother him. His sire would ensure they regretted it. 

“They might just wait until you leave and bother me. “ Which was true, but not the reason Blades was stalling. He still hoped to see a particular mech. “I’ll give it a few more joors since I have a free orn tomorrow. “

But after two more joors, Streetwise got involved in a dispatch and Blades headed for the courtyard to stroll around for a time. Too late, he heard the flyers. He managed to reach the steps before the Seekers landed.

“Hey,” Sandstorm said, “aren’t you coming to the party tonight?”

“I’ve got other plans tonight,” Blades said. “I sent the Air Commander a message. “ He backed up the steps. “You’ll excuse me. I need to see my brother.”

“C’mon, youngling,” Redwing cajoled.  He sounded quite cheerful, and Blades realized with dismay that they were both mildly overcharged. “How are you going to pick a partner if you don’t get to know us? Starscream and Flightspeed are there, you know their partners would give them a Pit of a hard time if they didn’t look after you.” They moved closer. Blades backed away.  Streetwise sensed his unease and told him to stall, that a mech was on the way.   

“I’ve gone to every party with Silverbolt, Fireflight, or Bluestreak,” Blades pointed out, “but they’re at the sparking party at the Constructicon base. Why did Starscream send you instead of Thundercracker or Flightspeed?” The three Seekers shifted uncomfortably. So this was their idea, not Starscream’s.  “What do you want from me? I’ve barely been back on Cybertron half a vorn and I barely know you.  “

Redwing said, “I’m looking for a partner. Hey, is it so hard just to give me a chance? You met Hotlink and Bitstream a few times. We even invited you to the hot soaks. “He edged a bit closer. Blades backed up another step.

Silverbolt told him what everyone assumed a mech went to the hot soaks for.  Blades saved for several orns and gave him a flavored non-high grade energon mix after Silverbolt, terribly embarrassed, told him the story. “I don’t interface with mechs I barely know,” he said. “They met me at Mixmaster’s music spot and at the Archives, where everyone could see us. “  Blades liked them, but he had little in common with either of him, and they did not pursue him further.

“Nothing like an interface to see if you’re compatible,” Redwing purred. “Starscream and Silverbolt found out.” Sandstorm laughed with him.

“After they courted for almost a vorn,” Blades reminded them.   That stopped the laughter, and in the silence came the sound of approaching rotors.  The Seekers turned at the sound of a transform.

Vortex landed and walked over. “Blades,” he said, “Streetwise contacted me. Is there a problem?”

“We came to give him an escort to the Air Commander’s party tonight,” Redwing said stiffly.

 Blades reached the top of the steps before he finished the sentence. “I’m afraid Seeker Redwing and Sandstorm misunderstood,” he said, “I sent my regrets to the Air Commander several orns ago.”

“So do you want me to contact the Air Commander and let him know the situation?” Vortex asked mildly. “I’ll be glad to let him know why you’re returning without him.”

They both muttered, “No need for that.”

As they turned to leave, Vortex said blandly, “Give the Air Commander my regards.” They snarled at him, but they left.  Blades watched them go before turning to look at Vortex. His spark contracted as the older helio walked up the steps toward him. This was the mech he hoped so much to see.

TRTR

“Vortex, Redwing and Sandstorm have Blades pinned in the courtyard and they’re scaring him. Could you speed it up a bit?” Streetwise asked. “They’re overcharged and getting pushy.”

Vortex was at the end of his shift and coming in to upload his reports. “I’m coming.” He sped up with very mixed feelings. He wanted to see Blades, and he knew he should not, when the young mech has so many better choices than a lowly Enforcer with a nasty past.

When he summoned them for the recovery mission, Lord Megatron told them, “It seems that we missed a few Autobots in the Earth sweep.” When he named the mechs, the ship team and the gestalts nodded.  While the Protectobots specialized in search and rescue, they fought skillfully enough that only another gestalt could hope to bring them in safely. 

Everyone, even Brawl the idiot, knew why Megatron wanted these mechs. He might call them rogues, but everyone knew that was an excuse to send a team for them. If asked to list any mech in the universe who might be a carrier, the Protectobots topped the list, with Beachcomber and Bumblebee making close seconds. Cybertron desperately needed more carriers, and they needed more medics and geologists almost as much. Everyone in the room also knew how much these mechs loved the organic planet they hid one. They had to know the risk they took sending out that distress call; they had to be desperate.

“My partner has assigned our offspring to the party,” the Lord Protector added sourly.” He says that Megatronis needs seasoning, and that the mechs involved would never attack a youngling. I need not tell you to protect him. “

So of course the brat went off and found the Protectobots and brought them in without a shot fired.  Lord Megatron and Optimus Prime almost burst with pride.

Watching how the returning  mechs reacted to him, Vortex experienced guilt -again. When Megatron ordered everyone back to Cybertron, he pulled mechs out of the ships a few at a time, beginning with the worst troublemakers. Vortex knew he went to the Temple.  They carried him out in total stasis. When he finally woke, he lay in the Temple of Primus, and felt- different.

“You were insane,” one of the priests told him. “When the purification completed, it uncovered a glitch in your programming. “ For the first few vorns, Vortex almost wished they had not. Whenever he remembered his past behavior, he felt sick and bewildered. Why did he act like that?

For a time the gestalt worked as Bruticus, clearing out ruins. Eventually someone developed more efficient means to do that kind of work. When the opportunity rose, Vortex requested medic training, but they told him he needed more of a science background. They offered search and rescue training instead; when the Enforcer division began, they asked Vortex to join.  

On Earth,  Blades and Groove got instant attention due to their terrible burns.  By the time First Aid and Hook got the two stabilized and checked the splint on Bumblebee, the medic swayed with exhaustion.  Vortex volunteered to sit with Blades and Groove while the others underwent much-needed upgrades during deep defrags.

Groove remained alert during the surrender and agreed to defrag with the others. Blades, whose fall into involuntary stasis encouraged the Protectobots to surrender to Tronis, needed to recover from his treatment before they could initiate the upgrades and defrag.  When Blades finally stirred, he saw Vortex and tensed.  When Vortex spoke kindly to him, offering painkiller and explaining where his brothers and friends were, Blades whispered, “What happened to you?”

Vortex told him, rambling from topic to topic at random. After a time, the younger mech relaxed and just listened. For the rest of the trip, Blades began to trust him, and before the end of the trip, they both knew the potential for more was there.  Vortex wanted more.

But he thought Blades deserved better. Seekers had trines- Vortex had a dysfunctional gestalt. They build successful businesses. Vortex had a small amount invested with the spa Swindle and Skywarp built, and it brought in a little extra, but nothing like what the Seeker trines could offer.  Most of them did not have his harsh past.

So he stayed away, trying to ignore the hopeful glances, the hints that Blades would enjoy a flight over some of the sights the Seeker spoke of, the messages about his welfare that an amused Streetwise regularly offered.

But this time Blades needed protection.  The Seekers might be overcharged, but not badly enough to bother an Enforcer escorting a potential carrier home in the administrative district. They talked as they flew. When they came to his door, Blades said, “Come in. Please.”

Vortex wanted to. He wanted that sweet young chassis against him, wanted to cry out in overload with him, wanted to spent the next orn talking and flying.  “Why me?” he asked. “The Seekers are better off.”

“I want someone who sees me!” Blades cried out. “Not a chassis to bed sparklings, not some triumph to be shown off to other seekers- me!” He stopped and held out his servos, his field yearning. “You see me, you want me, the mech Blades. And I feel like I know you.’

“And what about my past, youngling? My brothers-“

“You’ve changed, everyone says it. Tronis couldn’t believe we could be afraid of you. You poured out your spark to me on the ship. I want that. I want you.  Please, Vortex. Please.”

Vortex took both his servos, and Blades pulled him into the small quarters. The berth was a tight fit, but they managed.

 

 

 

 


	9. Cohort with Gestalt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades and Vortex have a strange problem. Others in the gestalt solve it.

 

Blades and Vortex stood in front of the Temple of Primus. After more than a vorn of hard work and desperate savings, they finally reached financial stability and a home of their own. Now as they stood before the temple door, Vortex turned to Blades and voiced his main concern again. “What if they refuse me? My past-“

“We can’t know until you apply,” Blades told him for the umpteenth time. “You changed. They said you were glitched before. You aren’t glitched now. You know how bad Starscream and Megatron were, and they got the siring programming.”  He stepped forward and pinged the door. When the priest appeared, he only stepped back and waited as they passed him.

“This way,” he said, and led them to an office, where they presented their proof of stable dwelling and financial stability. “Come,” the screener said to Vortex. Blades waited as patiently as he could and prayed. After all they went through, all the furious attempts of the Seekers to lure Blades away, all his friends asking him if he was sure, and the struggle to save, this was the last challenge to meet.

Vortex returned to the room looking stunned. “It seems that there is an issue,” the priest said.

They went to the office instead of going home. Onslaught and Blast-Off waited from them,  concerned due to the swirling storm of emotion going through Vortex. Blades looked as stunned as Vortex felt. “So they turned you down?” Onslaught asked. He sounded unhappy. The partnership helped his business gain customers.

Blast-Off and Onslaught came to them with a proposal to contract with the Constructicons to clear sites for private homes and businesses, outside of the areas managed by the government.  Vortex remained with the Enforcers, contributing his savings and working after hours with Blades to remove rubble.  The business grew until Blades stopped working at the rubble removal to handle administrative duties, a move necessary so that he could carry. Several neutrals worked with them.

In time Blades began to understand the Combaticons better.  With the exception of Vortex, the purging affected them in small ways. Criminals before the war broke out, the Fallen’s influence exacerbated their tendency to violence. With that darkness removed, they reverted to their pre-war attitudes.

Onslaught and Blast-Off believed they were superior to anyone but a few Decepticons. The purge enabled them to tolerate neutrals and Autobots enough to work with them; unlike Brawl, they did not need violence so much as regard it as a means to an end. Now that violence against other mechs carried harsh penalties, they turned their tendency to destroy into a lucrative business, where they demolished and cleared areas for private homes and businesses to enable construction.

Swindle founded businesses to feed his greed, and as more and more small businesses appeared to give him competition, he slid back into the shadows to offer what no one else would. He never let law and order get in the way of his greed before the war; everyone knew he did not now, but he learned to cover his tracks quickly. He rarely dealt with his old gestalt, though occasionally he sent business their way.

Before the war Brawl was a loud-mouthed, destructive brawler who loved to fight. The purge eased the cruelty but nothing changed his hot temper.  While his destructive tendencies proved useful in breaking down ruins, no mech on Cybertron would hire a company with a mech who hurt carriers, and Brawl crossed that line twice. “I don’t care what Cliffjumper said,” Onslaught bellowed to him after the first incident. “He’s a carrier with sparklings! We’ve had four cancellations already!”  Megatron sent him to the mines as punishment, but told him bluntly that if he stayed on Cybertron he was a dead mech anyway. When he needed gestalts to go after the one on Earth, Megatron offered Brawl the chance to return to Kaon if he got through the mission without hurting an organic or one of the ‘rogues’. After he broke Bumblebee’s arm strut, Blast-Off dumped him in Iacon without bothering to take him to Kaon.  He was back at the mines within an orn.  

   Blast-Off enjoyed the renewed access to music and art available in the Archives; he played classical music constantly. He leased his services as a shuttle to the government through the company, and otherwise worked with Onslaught, sometimes handling the harder site with blasts from space, though they cleared that kind of effort beforehand. Onslaught meticulously planned the work and preferred directing others to do it, but he managed to treat  Blades and the neutrals with civility most of the time. Remembering the two from the war, Blades felt that was a vast improvement.

Both Blast-Off and Onslaught ridiculed the courting efforts of the other Decepticons. “Groveling to the Autobots,” they said in disgust. “Who wants them?” They tolerated Blades for Vortex’s sake and they  needed someone to do the administrative work. Even better, having a gestalt-mate with an Autobot partner meant that customers viewed the business as stable and dependable.

Vortex’s news shocked them.

 “I’m a carrier,” Vortex said. Onslaught and Blast-Off looked at Vortex and then at each other, as Vortex looked at his own chassis. They said nothing. They looked as stunned as Blades. “They won’t download the programming because we based our financial stability on my ability to work while Blades carried, but there’s no one to work while I carry- they said we had to have a cohort before they’ll download the programming. Support in case both of us carry at the same time. “ 

When the word of the partnership between Vortex and Blades came out, the Seekers did their best to lure Blades away, but eventually the Seekers backed off and left them alone. It helped that Vortex worked with the Enforcers; attacking an Enforcer was a one-way ticket to the asteroids. Blades and Vortex found an unexpected supporter in Soundwave, who pointed out to the Seekers that the helios were in as much danger of dying out as the Seekers. “Seekers, few. Helios, fewer, more neutral and Decepticons, less likely to create,” he pointed out to Starscream and several others.  His real grief at the ending of his own kind lent a reality that statement that no Seeker dared argue with.

Blades said, “If the word gets out that both of us are carriers,” and stopped. He did not need to go on. Decepticon carriers faced worse harassment than any Autobot, unless they had a powerful partner or cohort for protection. The kind of coercive courting Blades endured would look mild compared to what Vortex would face when the Seekers discovered his potential to carry.  Almost certainly Blades and Vortex would be forced apart as Seeker trines descended on them. Worse, any Decepticon who discovered that Vortex could carry would demand that the Enforcers release him or put him into administrative duties.

“I want this,” Vortex said fiercely. He looked down at Blades. “I still want you as a partner. But I want my own offspring. We’ll find others.”

Blade’s spark contacted. He only wanted Vortex. But for Vortex, he could manage.

Before he could voice his acceptance, Blast-Off said, “One of our own, a carrier.” He looked at Onslaught. Blades felt stunned at the hope that appeared in his field.  “A Deception carrier can give us offspring without the taint of Autobots and Neutrals, with an Autobot partner.  And a flier. “ He smiled. “Perfect.”

“We will be your cohort,” Onslaught said. “The Autobot will carry for you, and you will carry for us. Blades can care for all the sparklings.  If we keep matters quiet, few will realize you’re the carrier; they’ll assume it’s him.” He jerked his head at Blades.

Several orns later, Blades and Vortex returned to the Temple with Onslaught and Blast-Off, carrying a contract.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add more to this chapter, but I'm having trouble with the second half , so I will go ahead with this one as a chapter even though it is quite short.


	10. Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Blades and Vortex are carrying. All does not end well.

Maze of Sparks Chapter 10

Blades walked with Vortex, heading out after his shift.  He looked around nervously. He felt exposed. Was he getting glitched with his carrying, like Fireflight? He wondered.  After all, several other mechs strolled down the street as well. Vortex exchanged greetings with several, getting smiles and approval. The word that Blades carried spread, and everyone assumed that Vortex walked to keep his cohort mate company.

He knew what made him so jumpy.  Barricade guessed something was off when Blades and Vortex changed their partnership into a cohort with Blast-Off and Onslaught. He called Vortex in. With his suspicions confirmed, he asked Vortex to work on a task force with several other mechs, including Megatronis, geared specifically toward carriers. Vortex’s connection with Swindle and the oil baths proved invaluable. Slowly, methods to identify the problems and ideas to deal with them came together.  As Vortex’s carrying progressed, so did the work until the progression from working the street to specializing in interviews and analyzing the information seemed inevitable.

In the meantime, Vortex and the task force identified several terrified grunt Decepticons who found out they carried the potential for the programming when a neutral heliformers approached them for help. The neutral got the programming before the rule regarding cohorts, and his partner died in a totally normal work accident resulting in a  early budding and death of his sparkling. The Seekers trines found out.  Vortex and Megatronis warned the two Seeker trines harassing the neutral twice; the third time, they caught two Seekers, one from each trine, fighting each other over the bound and gagged neutral. The Seekers appealed their punishments twice, despite interrogation by Soundwave that revealed they both intended to kidnap and force the neutral to bud for them. Starscream grounded them for two vorns and reported the incident to the Temple of Primus and to all the Seekers, effectively banishing them from Seeker society. Megatron banished them from Kaon with the choice of two years working with the neutrals helping to clear the area around Vos, or the mines. Optimus Prime, the final court of appeal, took away the option of the mines. The neutral joined several other Decepticons currently undergoing changes in their chassis and paint colors with retraining in new fields; in exchange, the carriers agreed to pay for the help by working for the government in their new positions for two years of their new lives.

 Sometimes Blades worried about Hot Spot, but his brother enjoyed the company of the mechs in his search and rescue team, who worked and lived together in a kind of informal cadre. No one yet realized he was a former Autobot.

He jerked his attention back to the street. The entire cohort planned to meet at one of the music bars because Blast-Off arranged the music for the evening.  The shuttle dropped Blades off at the Enforcer station to wait for Vortex to finish his shift.  Onslaught was delayed with a customer, and told them to ask for an escort to the bar and he would joint them there. The shift ended a joor ago, and there was no one there to ask for an escort. Vortex refused to wait. “By the time someone shows up, the show will start,” he said. “I need to get out of this building and I want some of that flavored energon, even if it’s not high grade. No one will bother us on the open street in this area,” he said.  Blades felt his field flare with amusement at the idea. “Come on, it’s only a few streets over. We can walk that far.” 

They headed out, both gazing longingly at the sky. This late in their carrying, First Aid forbid both to fly, “You have a few more deca-orns, but sometimes carriers get early pains, and you don’t need to be in the sky when that happens.  If you fall, the stress can trigger an early budding, and that’s dangerous.  It can kill a mech.” “All right, youngling?” Vortex asked him. “Look, we’re almost there. I can almost taste that energon now.”  Blades let his relief and his amusement show in his field. Vortex seemed to get hungrier every orn.  They both heard wings, but only glanced up to see which Seekers were coming to the concert.

There were four of them, two apiece. They grabbed and flew, so quickly that Blades heard confused shouts over the wind for only a few seconds before they faded. “We’re going to teach both of you a lesson,” Redwing growled at him, and slammed something onto his back to block his coms. Blades tried to focus on his link with his gestalt, and got alarmed responses. He hoped Vortex was doing the same. He twisted, and pain shot through him- not from the Seekers, but through his spark. He stopped, not daring to struggle further.  What if he budded with only these glitched Seekers around?

 They had nothing to lose.  Their trine mates were heading for the asteroids, and they thought it was a matter of time before they headed that way as well. They had nothing to lose, and they intended to get their revenge.

TRTR

Megatron flew, and thought. While he never wished for the old days, sometimes he longed for its simplicity. He hated. He killed. He hungered for power. Life was simpler.

Then he found out what drove him, over the deactivated chassis of his most loyal follower. Shockwave sought a means to challenge what he thought was a weapon the Autobots found- only to bring worse.

Autobot and Decepticon alike fought the burning mech, the Fallen of the original Thirteen, and he only brushed off their efforts , throwing Optimus Prime away like a child’s toy and focusing on the others around him, maneuvering them into certain areas, and gloating over their weakness before him as he planned to awaken his master Unicron.

Then the miracle happened, as the Fallen faded away in mid-gloat. He remembered how he lay leaking from four vicious wounds. All the other fighters lay as badly hurt as he.  He knew he was next. This –madman- drove his life for vorns, and only now did he see the Fallen for what he was. He knew he deserved to die.

 Instead, something whispered in his processor; it offered peace in the Well, or a lifetime of dedication to the rebuilding of Cybertron, with a Prime to guide him after being purified of Unicron’s taint. The purification burned, but left him fully healed. A weight he never knew existed fell from him, leaving him feeling free. He saw Optimus looking over Elita-One, next to Grimlock’s deactivated chassis. A set of Empties hovered, and one came close. The Prime reached for weapons and found none. Megatron fired over the Empties’ head, and they all scampered away.

He stood. Optimus Prime waited, making no move. He was smaller, reformatted by the Matrix of Purification. He fairly glowed with the new power, after communing directly with Primus. Megatron bowed to him. “My Prime, I gave an oath to Primus to protect the Prime who holds the Matrix of Purification and to accept your guidance. “

The war should have ended that day. They managed to get the Decepticons back to Cybertron to be purified, intending to bring the Autobots after. But the Autobot High Command traveled on Skyfire, and though no one knew what happened, they knew that there was nothing left on that part of space but debris. That accident left Megatron with extremely mixed feelings. On the one hand, the war left them far too few, with no means of making more. On the other- without those mechs bolster Optimus Prime, Megatron felt little challenge to his leadership; he doubted Prowl, Ratchet, and the others in Optimus Prime’s high command would ever accept him even with the Prime’s support. His Decepticons felt the need to rebuild as strongly as he did, and the Autobots left felt completely demoralized, giving them no trouble. 

He and Optimus agreed to keep the Prime’s survival quiet for a time, so that the integration could begin without a focus of rebellion.  He gave orders. They took away the Autobot’s weapons, but all of them received fuel, shelter, medical care, and reasonable work conditions, the equal of his troops. He ensured no one was raped, beaten, or mistreated, with violators punished at once by removal from Kaon, usually with banishment to the mines. That was more than he or most in the lower levels of Kaon ever got.

Slowly, however, matters eased. They managed to scavenge a lot of material from Shockwave’s fortress and from the ruins. As they set up the energon receptors that used sunlight from space on Cybertron, the moons, and the asteroids, they started to reclaim the Empties. Elita-One, Obsidian, and Strika handled Iacon, making deals with the neutrals. Decepticons unable to deal well with Autobots and neutrals worked in the mines, supervising Shockwave’s reprogrammed drones. 

Megatron thought matters were going well. He knew the Decepticons in Kaon often spent time with some of the Autobots when the better energon became available. Of course the officers got the better fuel, better quarters first. They deserved it, being loyal and working hard.

But Optimus saw the large use of medical supplies when the sinkhole trapped several mechs underground, and went to bolster morale. Learning about what he termed inequities, he demanded that the Autobots who worked with the supervisors receive equal treatment. “They work as hard using similar or better skills,” he noted. “Why are they being treated the same as your grunts when they are doing the officer’s work for them?”  So Megatron grudgingly initiated a merit system. To his surprise, morale rose in the troops as well as the former Autobots as opportunities rose.

Then came the news. There was a chance at renewal.  Megatron remembered how jubilant he felt when Optimus explained the process. Even better, there were many more Decepticons than Autobots. They would soon outnumber and intermarry enough that there would be true integration, with the majority of the future population descended from Decepticons. 

But few mechs got the carrier programming, most of them the former Autobots. By now, most of the Autobots had Decepticons friends or lovers. Some trines shared a consenting carrier, like the Coneheads shared Powerglide. Some insisted on their own partners, like Hoist with Long Haul and Starscream with Silverbolt.  The Autobot carriers stood together and gave each other support, using their considerable influence with their partners as well. Potential Decepticon carriers lacked that support network.

When Silverbolt and Starscream filed a partnership agreement with Soundwave, many Decepticon carriers seized the idea. The lucky ones found powerful partners or managed to form a cohort for support; when such agreements were filed, the carrier held on to his rights as a Decepticon because of that support. The unlucky ones faced constant harassment by other Decepticons to bud for them. Both Optimus and the Temple priests rescued one too many exhausted and emotionally scarred Decepticon or Neutral carrier before declaring that no potential Decepticon carrier received programming unless he carried proof of support from a cohort; they learned the hard way that a partner was seldom enough.

Megatron protested. There must be another solution; they needed to grow their population, not put up more barriers! But his Prime and the Temple of Primus stood their ground. Optimus pointed out that many of the older younglings approached the age to accept breeding programming, and this matter needed to be settled before they did.

The Prime knew his Lord Protector. Megatronis was not the oldest of the younglings by a wide margin. As much as he wanted an heir, Megatron forced the Prime to wait until they knew the program was safe. But the strain of carrying both a spark and the Matrix proved extremely taxing for Optimus.  The budding left him weak and unable to work for some time. He offered to dissolve their partnership so that Megatron could sire more offspring. Megatron refused; Optimus needed him. Besides, if he let Optimus go, Megatronis went with him.

Megatron did not tolerate threats to his offspring any more than he tolerated threats to his Prime.  This matter must be settled before his heir came of age. So he told Barricade to set up a task force to investigate how bad the problem was and look into solutions. After scanning the reports, he thought he saw some interesting patterns.   So now he flew,  trying to work out how to use those patterns so that more Decepticons and Neutral could safely carry. He flew over the Temple of Primus, and into the scared ruins past it.

“Help us! Please help us!”

The despairing shriek startled him into looking down.  What he saw sent him down as quickly as he could move while calling for the Enforcer and Starscream. Two Seekers bent over a large helio while two more  held a second. Megatron recognized the screamer as one of the Earth bots, Blades, who shrieked and writhed in the Seeker’s grip.  Megatron transformed and landed in front of the two attacking Seekers. When the others saw him, they  dropped the helio and bolted into the sky, only to confront Megatronis.  The other two slammed into the nearest buildings. Their initial rush turned into frightened cowering when they saw who attacked them. “Do not dare to move,” Megatron  warned them, and looked up, intending to help his offspring.  There was no need; Blast-Off and Megatronis each stood over one Seeker, both with bent wings. Megatronis was holding Blast-Off’s gun arm up. Megatrom barked at the shuttle to stand down. Blast-Off did, but Megatron could tell how hard to struggled with control.

Blades rushed to Vortex, keening. Megatron looked the helio over, wondering what all the fuss was about. The larger heliformer was dented and scratched, but Megatron saw no major damage.  Vortex took worse beatings on the battlefield and barely noticed it. “It’s all right, youngling,” Vortex said softly as Blades frantically checked him out.

“No it’s not! You know what First Aid said about too much excitement when we’re this far along.” He glared at the Seekers. “You could have killed him!”

“Vortex?” Megatron said. He squatted by his former insane interrogator. “He’s tougher than that. He’ll be fine-“ Then Vortex contorted. Megatron recognized the move. He saw once before, in Optimus Prime, when he was budding their sparkling.

“No! Oh, Primus, no!” Blades keened. “He’s starting to bud!”

Megatron  shoved his shock aside and grabbed Blades, remembering what Glit told him as Optimus budded. “Don’t upset him further! Talk quietly to him, tell him everything will work out, get him calmed down while I call for help.”

Blades quieted. “First Aid is coming with Long Haul,” he said, and turned to his partner. “Vortex, help is coming. We’ll get through this.” Faintly they heard the sound of a siren. “Just hold on. I can’t lose you, we can’t lose you. The sparkling needs you.”

Vortex panted. “Take care of him if I don’t make it,” he said.

“Don’t talk like that. Focus on the sparkling. You’ll be fine.”  An ambulance skidded around the corner, followed by a large hauler. First Aid transformed out of the ambulance and headed for both the carriers. Behind them Barricade and Strongarm rolled up.

“I can take them,” Blast-Off said. “It will be faster. “ Megatron helped load Vortex into the shuttle, followed by First Aid. As he started to follow, Blades convulsed. Megatron helped Barricade and Strongarm get the Seekers to the Enforcement building and waited with Barricade for news. 

Vortex died; his sparkling survived.

Blades survived; his sparkling did not.

Megatron knew he had to find a better way to increase his population.

 

 

 


	11. Groove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Groove finds a way to help Decepticon carriers, but runs into a problem-literally.

Groove drove and vented as he moved out of Kaon. One of the things he truly missed about Earth was being to drive off and let his movement on the road empty out his processor.

Normally Groove thought twice about driving alone outside of Kaon; even armed Decepticons left the city in groups. But teams like Hot Spot’s patrolled the road to the Temple of Primus to keep it safe from the Empties that still roamed the ruins outside of Kaon and Iacon. While no Decepticon liked a carrier wandering alone even inside Kaon, none of them would try to stop him from going to the Temple. The mechs courting him would be torn between hope and fear- hope that he was seeking counseling over which mechs or cohort to choose, or fear that he was considering the priesthood. Many suitors backed off when they found he visited the Temple regularly, not wanting to waste their time and credits on a mech with a vocation; everyone remembered Starscream’s experience with Skydive.

At first Groove visited the Temple simply to get out of Kaon on his own. Meditating in a chapel helped clear his processor, though he and the priests knew he had no vocation. One visit another mech wandered into the empty chapel he sat in and started talking. Groove listened attentively. He noticed Skydive come in, see them, and sit down to wait.

Thus Groove learned about the problems that unlucky Decepticon carriers encountered. In the early days of Cybertron’s rebuilding, Autobots came to Cybertron stripped of weapons and forced to depend on Decepticons to defend them as they worked. For this reason, Decepticons regarded Autobots as needing protection, an attitude that intensified as Autobots received the carrying programming. Autobots tended to support each other.

While most Decepticon carriers managed to find a partner or cohort willing to protect them, some became victims. When the Temple realized how bad the problem was getting, they stopped downloading the carrier programming to neutrals and Decepticons without a cohort or powerful partner, but for several mechs that change came too late, and it did not help mechs whose partners died or abandoned them. The Temple took in and cared for these unfortunate mechs and their sparklings, mentally preparing them for the changes in their physical appearance and reentry into Kaon.

 After a time the mech started keening over a sparkling who deactivated at budding. Skydive came over.  When they left the grieving mech with another priest, Skydive took a walk with Groove and talked to him.

“They wouldn’t dare to this to an Autobot,” he told Groove. “The other Decepticons would kill the mechs. Brawl  threatened Cliffhanger once when Cliff snarked back at him. Cliff was carrying, and a mob almost tore Brawl apart before Lord Megatron got him out of Kaon. But a Decepticon should defend himself.”  Groove understood the problem. He came every few orns to work with the mechs or the sparklings; his easygoing, non-judgmental attitude helped.

He normally worked the evening shift as dispatcher for the Enforcers, which gave him some much-needed quiet time from courting mechs. The others who came from Earth paired off quickly. Groove managed to stay single partly due to his odd work hours and partly due to his ability to play the field. He spent time with any mech he liked, and he liked most mechs he met. He refused to accept any expensive outings, preferring a drive to a scenic place with some flavored mid-grade, or some mild high grade in an outdoor park where mechs gathered to play music to a fancy spa or exotic energon goodies. As a result, mechs courted him for a time, realized they had no chance, and settled into friendship. Then another set of mechs began the process.

As he drove, his thought moved between an idea he wanted to propose to the priests and pulling Skydive aside for a more private discussion.

Like most of the mechs returning to Earth, Groove helped out his Autobot mentor with occasional sparkling-sitting, and noticed how many of the older sparklings liked putting things together. He began devising puzzles for them during the slow times at the dispatch desk.

At one of the parks, Hotlink landed close to Blades and Groove while they relaxed and watched Blade’s offspring Whirl as he played with the other sparklings. They talked for a time. Hotlink and Bitstream worked with a couple of mechs who operated businesses, selling artwork and minor convenience items of other mechs for a percentage of the price. Two orns after the shopkeeper accepted the kits, he commed Hotlink and told him that they sold already and mechs came in asking for them. Groove spent several pleasant evenings working with them, making trips to get more materials to make the kits and discussing different kinds of challenging puzzles, or ways to make puzzles into art. Bitstream created one puzzle of colored materials to fit into a frame with a backlight that sold as fast as they could make them. Groove looked forward to the meetings, to the point that he considered hinting at a closer partnership- but they were Seekers. Did they want to consider a grounder?

Arriving at the Temple, he found Skydive. “Hey, I have an idea.” All mechs worked for the government in some capacity, most in rebuilding, with the jobs depending on their skill level, from laboring positions doing hand-on work in base or alt modes, to those directing work or with an alt mode that did specialized work, to those who scouted and planned. Cohorts and other companies were assessed for a certain amount of work as a group, which allowed cohorts to support a carrier and a company to have their carriers work in administrative positions for the company and not directly for the government.   

No non-carrier, Decepticon or neutral, would tolerate a carrier performing any kind of work that threatened their ability to carry or care for a sparkling. Groove learned that in the earliest days, most Decepticons identified as carriers already had partners; when the available carrier pool narrowed, mechs courted both partners to form cohorts.  

Some carrier victims, like the neutral heliformer Vortex rescued, got retraining and changes to their physical modes and moved into a program where a special task force checked on them until they found a cohort or powerful partner. Most were in the program less than half a vorn.

The carriers the Temple cared for consisted of grunts who with no real skills who worked in basic construction or similar work, expanding Kaon and Vos. Many lacked the processor skills to learn advanced skills, explaining how they became victims in the first place. Government jobs they could handle came few and far between.

Hotlink, Bitstream and Groove had little time to assemble their kits. The shopkeepers knew of other mechs like them. Groove proposed creating a system where such inventors or an investor could pay the carriers to make such items for the shopkeepers to sell. Even better, such a system would give the carriers a chance to meet decent mechs and cohorts to partner with without going through the physical risks of changing their appearance or to raise all or part of the credits without going into debt to the government.

“I like the idea, and I think Lord Megatron and the Prime would agree to a waiver for their work duty until they find partners or a cohort. Do you think Kaon can support a factory that makes toys?” Skydive mused.

“Not all of these things are toys,” Groove qualified. “A lot of it is convenience stuff, like when Wheeljack made those jetpacks for the twins or Grapple made those specialized shelves for Prowl and Ratchet. But a lot of the stuff we’re talking about is small and easy to make. We’d need someone to get materials, too, but we figure that out as we go.” Skydive agreed to take the idea to his superiors. If they agreed, Groove would talk to the shopkeepers.

“And are you considering any partnership beyond business?” Skydive asked slyly.

Groove shot him a startled look. “Is it that obvious?” he blurted out, and wanted to kick himself. Before Skydive could answer he hurried on, “They’re Seekers. I don’t know if it could work out. I don’t have doorwings or anything, and they haven’t really been courting me. “

Skydive snorted. “Oh? You think they came to you out of a need for credits or looking for a hobby? Tell you what. Give them a few clues that you’re interested in more than a business relationship and see how they react.”

Groove left feeling better. As he headed back to Kaon, he tried to decide how he would ‘hint’ his interest to Hotlink and Bitstream, when three mechs appeared in the road ahead of him. He slowed, wondering if they needed help.  When the weapons appeared, he swerved and the blast missed. He tumbled off the road, transforming as he tried to limit the damage and screaming through the com for help even as another blast winged him.

Stun shot, he realized, hanging on to consciousness as hard as he could. He felt his brothers’ react to his shock and managed to relay where he was before the attacking mechs reached him and slapped something on chassis. His next com echoed in his own helm, unable to get out. Quickly but very carefully the mechs bound him with stasis cuffs, chattering to each other as they worked.

“Couldn’t work out better, Viewfinder,” one crowed. “I told you he drives up here alone every few orns.”

“Spectro, you idiot, if I didn’t believe you, would I have put out all those credits?” Viewfinder growled. “Now help me get him in this thing so we can get him all set up.” He patted Groove on the head. “Don’t worry, little Autobot,” he purred, “we’re going to set you up just fine in a nice little berth in our hidden base, where we’ll record mechs coming to visit thinking to get a sparkling from you. Then we’ll gather up credits from the ones who don’t want to spend a long time in the asteroid mines.”

“You’ll never get away with it,” Groove told them. “Let me go and I’ll -“

They laughed and hit him with another stun ray, point-blank this time.

Groove woke to a tiny cell, his arms and legs numb from the stasis cuffs that held him to the berth. He sniffed, wondering what the odd but pleasant and mildly familiar aroma was, until he remembered Grapple wearing a special perfumed wax for an evening out with Hook. He vented deeply, fighting off panic.

He knew the Reflectors from Earth. They liked blackmail, and they were greedy. He remembered a conversation between Bluestreak and Smokescreen. “Primus took away the taint of Unicron,” Bluestreak said, “but there were plenty of mechs on both sides who were just plain greedy and mean, and he didn’t take that away. So be careful with Swindle. He’s got connections in a lot of gray areas we know of and I’d bet my last credit he’s into some we can’t find that are a lot darker.”

Groove wondered if Swindle was behind this little stunt or the Reflectors were acting alone. Well, from his viewpoint that didn’t matter all that much. Unfortunately, after listening to the carriers’ stories, he had some idea what he was in for. They wanted him alive, but Groove valued his freedom above his life any day.

Forced into inactivity, Groove closed his optics and let his mind drift. He pondered the situation as a whole. Slowly he realized why the Decepticons acted as they did with the carriers.

They acted out of fear. Put simply, the carriers could survive and rebuild Cybertron without the sires. The sires could rebuild Cybertron, but could not survive in the long run without the carriers. There was more- the longing for the stability of a secure cohort or partner, the hunger for status that came with a desirable partner, the practical need for help in a business all played a part- but in the end the sires knew they needed the carriers, and therefore wanted to protect and control them in the fear that otherwise the carriers would withdraw and leave the sires to their reproductive dead end.

He appreciated how this forced the factions to integrate, and it gave the sparklings a stable society to mature in, but the carriers fought a constant battle to be seen as mechs with rights and not property of their partners or cohorts.  Like so many of the Autobots and some of the Decepticons, he hoped  matters would ease when the oldest of the offspring activated their reproductive programming but more and more Groove wondered. Would the younglings be willing to activate their carrying programming, when they saw that their sires and not their carriers possessed the power in this society?

Noise erupted suddenly from outside his prison. Light poured in as a familiar voice called his name and Hot Spot appeared in his field of view, warm red eyes full of concern. “Found him,” he shouted to the two behind him. “See if you can find keys to stasis cuffs!” Groove told him about the com blocker and Hot Spot found it. “Were you raped?” he asked via a tight com. Groove shook his head and Hot Spot heaved a relieved vent and maneuvered to kneel by the berth. “We came as fast as we could, but when we got to the road and found only the signs of a struggle, and no answers to your com, I got worried! A couple of your friends worked with Soundwave to trace some leads while Seekers did a search pattern. Even Lord Megatron got involved- Skywarp is taking both of them straight to Iacon before a mob kills them. He said he can get more use out of a mech in the mines than he can from a dead one.”

Soon after one of Hot Spot’s cohort showed up and got the cuffs off. A few joors later, First Aid helped Groove scrub the wax off in the washrack before a careful and through exam. “You’re clean,” he said to Groove’s intense relief. “I’ll let everyone know if you want. We’ve been getting coms from all over. Hotlink and Bitstream have been calling almost every joor.”

“Can I see them?” Groove asked.

“If you feel up to it,’ First Aid said, somewhat baffled. Less than a few astroseconds later, the two Seekers hurried into the room.

“Are you all right?”

“We’ll kill them for you! I’ll find a way somehow!”

“Mechs, mechs, calm down, I’m just shook up,” Groove said, but his vocalizer spat static. He took deep vents. They approached carefully, reaching to him very slowly, but he shoved himself off the berth at them. First Aid watched for a moment, but when the two Seekers sandwiched his brother between them, humming, he backed out discreetly.

“We’ll take care of you,” Hotlink said when Groove quieted. He knelt and looked up at the smaller mech’s face. “You’re the first mech we’ve found that we could work well with. “

“I’m a grounder- the other Seekers-“

“Can fly into a black hole if they have a problem with it,” Bitstream growled. “So what if the little sparks are grounders? They’ll still be ours. We won’t be the first Seekers to have grounder partners. A couple of them have a compound not too far from the Constructicon’s big place. We’ve got credits saved, we can build close by.”

Groove laughed a little unsteadily. “Take me home, feed me some high grade, and face me through the berth,” he said, and all of them laughed a little. “I want to face someone I chose. Please.”

TRTR

In their weekly meeting, the Lord Protector reviewed a proposal. “A factory for leisure items?” he said dubiously.

“We can’t find real jobs for all of the carriers,” the Prime pointed out. “We have a choice between creating jobs, allowing them to continue without working at all, or giving this idea a chance.” He scrolled down. “Look at this list. Here’s one of the items.” He pulled an odd structure from his subspace and set it down before setting the datapad on it. A holoform showed the contents of the datapad so both could easily read it. “This is one of the items. I find it useful. After a vorn or so to see if it works, we could request that provide a certain amount of items as their work duty, or ask them to build other designs. As the carriers find partners or cohorts, they will come under the usual work duty rules.”

“Anything to get them partnered and producing,” Megatron growled. “I still think we should choose their partners-“

“No.” The flat refusal held a faint echo Megatron recognized. “Our population has already doubled. There is no need to take choices away from mechs in that way. Growing faster than our resources can handle will no one any good.”

Megatron only nodded. Every suggestion he made to increase the population more quickly met a titanium wall, he thought glumly.

But he had not become Megatron by giving up. He would find a way.


	12. Interrupted Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the Autobots meet to discuss Megatron's latest idea for increasing the population, until a mist rises...

Smokescreen looked around him, worried.  The tension in this gathering started so thick you could cut it. Along with almost every former Autobot on the planet stood in this flat plain near the Temple of Primus, Optimus Prime included, he stood to discuss how to protest to the Lord Protector’s latest maneuver regarding population.   They left their youngest in the hands of their older siblings or trusted neutrals, because they wanted no Decepticon to know where they gathered.

Optimus Prime stood in the middle of the circle. “I am going to state the obvious first. Our offspring are budded with the programming to both bud and sire. Thus, we thought that the problems arising from the smaller ratio of carriers to sires would ease as our younglings became old enough to bud.  At this time, the oldest of our offspring have become old enough to activate their breeding programming, and in two out of the twenty oldest of them has the carrier programming been activated.”  

Silverbolt stood with the group of carriers partnered with Seekers and other fliers. “Does anyone know why?”  A murmur rose from the crowd, as everyone wanted an answer to that question.

“We have guesses, but no answers,” Optimus told him heavily.

Smokescreen, standing behind Optimus, felt he knew why, and he wondered how many others guessed.

After listening to the priest of Primus explain the carrier’s problems on Cybertron, Smokescreen went to Bluestreak for mentoring. Like the other mentors, Bluestreak acted to protect his fellow Autobot from the worst of the Seekers and introduce him to compatible partners.  Smokescreen learned why when he attended one party without a fellow carrier to protect him; it took all his charming manipulation and an embarrassing call for help to Bluestreak to get him out. Bluestreak ranted at Flightspeed for almost a joor. Then he refused to talk to him at all for the rest of the orn until Flightspeed brought him a container of expensive energon goodies and promised to let Bluestreak handle Smokescreen’s contacts. Smokescreen found the interaction entertaining.

That did not change his attitude toward the Seekers. He sent a politely worded request to transfer to a government apartment of his own in the administrative section should one become available.  As Smokescreen worked in the administrative section that oversaw business licensing and oversight, he knew he had the right to one, and he knew one was vacant. He told Bluestreak of his decision and why.

Bluestreak surprised him. “Optimus Prime thought you would want that, and said if you make the request, I’m to make you an appointment with him.” He gave the date and time. “Just one word of warning. I know you’ve gotten messages from Swindle. Primus took away the taint of Unicron from the Decepticons, but there were plenty of mechs on both sides who were just plain greedy and mean without any help from the Unmaker. So be careful with Swindle. He’s got connections in a lot of gray areas we know of and I’d bet my last credit he’s into some we can’t find that are a lot darker.”

Talking to Blades later, Smokescreen said, “I felt like a glitchmouse at the turbofox convention at that party. Dealing with Swindle is easier. He’s greedy but he’s more honest about his intentions than they are. “

He meant it. Better than most Autobots, he understood the grey areas businesses often deal with. He knew that there were some matters much easier to deal with in the shadows, and he felt comfortable there. Optimus Prime proved that he understood such matters as well.

“Megatron,” he told Smokescreen bluntly, “says he is charged by Primus to protect me- which he is- and that I am needed to run the administration- which I am. We both know that he was and is doing an excellent job of this rebuilding. He accepts my guidance when I give it.” He vented. “However, his need to control everything in his existence did not go away when he was purified. So, while he listens to me, he tries to limit my knowledge of outside events so that my guidance is limited.   As a result, I must often rely on others for information. I understand that Swindle has been in contact.”

Smokescreen nodded. Thus far, he met Swindle three times, always in the company of several others. The former Combaticon engaged in pleasant conversation without being pushy, but small gifts appeared on Smokescreen’s desk afterward, like boxes of energon goodies, cubes of flavored high grade, and a lovely puzzle with transparent shapes; the frame it fit into once solved lit from behind and made the colors glow beautifully. 

He and Swindle shared a history. They shared a berth and a few scams, but while Smokescreen would cheat, he drew the line at physical violence. When he had his stash made, he backed out and went legit, parting ways with Swindle at the time. If there was something Swindle drew the line at, Smokescreen had yet to find it-he sold pieces of his own gestaltmates, for Primus’ sake!

“Swindle was one of the first to begin a business. He initiated the program where a company can offer products or service instead of working as assigned, which is working well for everyone involved.   Thus far, Swindle remains within the law in his dealings.”  He paused. “To my knowledge and to Megatron’s. Megatron trusts him no more than I do.”

Smokescreen had no trouble believing that. “What do you wish of me, my Prime?”

“If you choose,” Optimus emphasized the ‘choose’ carefully, “to deal with Swindle, any interesting information can be passed on to Bluestreak or to this drop box.” Smokescreen accepted the information. “I am not saying not to report to the Enforcers if necessary, but more to the point, I need to know if certain rules and restrictions need to be tightened. I believe you understand me.”

Smokescreen understood. Optimus did not want to hear of petty crimes; that was the job of the Enforcers. He wanted to know of rules being bent with certain officials being persuaded to look the other way. Corruption and manipulation of rules tore Cybertron apart and started the Great War. While some amount of influence peddling was inevitable, Optimus wanted to make it clear that such matters were not acceptable in this new society.

Smokescreen moved into his new quarters soon after.  Within two orns, he found a datapad with an invitation on his desk to one of the more expensive entertainment centers in the downtown area. He sent an acceptance back for the evening before his free orn, reflecting that Swindle was wasting no time.

He walked into the place and worked hard to hide how impressed he felt.  Soft, old music played; tasteful artwork decorated the walls; and the booths lay in a manner where no one could look in without being seen by the patrons.  He spoke to the attendant, who asked him to wait as he made a com. Soon after, Swindle walked up. Smokescreen felt the anticipation in his former lover’s field as he gestured for Smokescreen to follow him.

They walked to the back of the building.  “Is this business or pleasure?” Smokescreen asked.

“A little of both, I hope,” Swindle said smoothly.  He opened a door and stood back. Smokescreen stepped into a large room and gazed around as Swindle came in and shut the door behind him. It was a studio apartment, furnished with the best that credits could buy at this time on Cybertron.  Smokescreen took in the comfortable berth, the elaborate energon dispenser, the table set with glowing cubes that smelled delicious and the tasty treats delicately laid on a platter on the table.

If Swindle wanted to impress his former lover, he succeeded. “I’m flattered,” Smokescreen said, turning to look at a smirking Swindle.  “So, knowing you, let me cut to the chase. What do you want with me?” He made no attempt to smile. “Just for the record, if I wanted to be a little kept partner with nothing to do but bud sparklings and work some kind of mindless desk job,  I’d have let Megatron shove me at Skywarp. ” Skywarp was the mentor Megatron chose for Smokescreen before Optimus Prime intervened and set up partnered Autobot mentors instead.

“Good,” Swindle said. “If I wanted that, I could pick from a dozen neutral or Decepticons carriers.”  He gestured to the table. “I’ve got mid-grade and high grade here. Share a cube and a snack with me and tell me what you did on Earth after the war.”  For about a joor they sipped and talked about what happened on Earth and Cybertron.   Swindle nodded in approval when Smokescreen talked about the business they started up, how their expertise in their various areas brought in enough to keep them comfortable. “The problem was supplies,” he said, and savored a sip from his energon. “What we have everywhere here, they just didn’t have.”

Swindle nodded. Then he talked about going through the purification. “I was third from the gestalt to go through,” he said. “What it did, it took away some of the meanness, I think. Not much else. ” He shrugged. “Not like Vortex.  He fell apart. They said he was glitched, and they managed to fix it. He wanted to be a medic, can you believe that? They talked him into Enforcer work instead.” Smokescreen nodded. He remembered how shocked he was about Vortex. “We first got here, Bruticus did the heavy clearing. Then when they found better ways to do that, they shoved me into administration.”

“You working for the government,” Smokescreen said in disbelief.

“My mech, just how many in the Decepticon army knew anything about how to handle civilian administration?  I did a good job, too. Then the neutrals started working so the shifts got shorter. Mechs had time to do some work on the side.”  His field got smug. “We were starving for little luxuries.  I mean, you almost never found anything that was any good. The neutrals cleaned it all out a long time ago. But with more time, some mechs started making things from bits and pieces, or they’d figure out a way to fix something.  The credit system started, and some mechs came to me for advice.”  He leaned forward. “I started to get in some credits as a consultant on the side.” Smokescreen felt smug pride in his field. “And I think you can figure out that once I had some spare credits, I knew what to do with them.”

“Invest,” Smokescreen said.

“Yep. I helped the Constructicons make a deal with the administration that their company would do so much work per vorn as their contribution to the rebuilding based on how many workers they had, and then they could work for individual mechs building private homes. Then I set up Onslaught’s company for the clearing.”

“Bet it hurt when he lost Brawl,” Smokescreen commented, nibbling appreciatively at the last energon goodie. He could not afford any kind of sweets often, and he was wary of accepting them from his Seeker suitors- with the way they tended to back each other up, they might take advantage of him and then  say he just got overcharged.  Both he and Swindle knew that if Swindle tried to take advantage of him, all Smokescreen needed to do was complain to the Seekers, and Swindle would regret knowing his name within a very short period of time.

 “That damned glitch. Brawl was born loud and obnoxious and not even Primus could change him,” Swindle said in disgust. “I don’t care if Cliffjumper had it coming. You don’t hit a carrying mech. You don’t threaten a carrying mech.”  Smokescreen stopped chewing and looked at Swindle in shock for a few astroseconds as Swindle went on, “I acted as a consultant for those starting small businesses, and instead of asking for a fee that most didn’t have, I asked for a percentage for the first two vorns, in goods or services or credits. I cleaned up, completely legit.”

Smokescreen put the rest of his energon goodie down and looked around the room, then back at Swindle. “So you’re telling me that all of your credits, all this,” he waved at the incredible display, “is from investments.”  They both looked at the display, Swindle with satisfaction and Smokescreen with assessment.

“I got a lot of goods to start with,” Swindle admitted modestly. He leaned forward. “But I’m a full partner in Skywarp’s spa, and in Mixmaster’s drink company. There’s plenty of credits to make around here, but a mech can only do so much, and I’ve still got to put in my contribution.”  He paused, looking at Smokescreen.

Smokescreen leaned back and finished the energon goodie. “Okay. I’ll admit I’m impressed. You’ve cleaned up, legit. He picked up and finished his mid-grade, glad that he avoided the high-grade.  He was pretty sure what was coming next from the hot look and the lust that flared in Swindle’s field. Remembering their temporary but intense affair, he let matters progress to the berth and a heated, intense, and satisfying interface. He thanked Swindle sincerely for a wonderful evening.

Then he headed for the Temple of Primus and let his processor churn as he drove. He did take the precaution of contacting Hot Spot first, so someone would knew where he was going. Hot Spot just acknowledged and said to be careful.

Swindle spoke of carrying mechs almost reverently.  When Swindle spoke about how stupid Brawl was to threaten, much less strike, a carrying mech, he shocked Smokescreen-not with his words, but the tone and the change in his field when he said them. He could see Swindle saying that meaning that Brawl should have known that such an action would trigger a reaction from other mechs. Instead, Swindle sounded completely sincere- that carrying mechs were too important, too precious, to even threaten.  That chilled him, and for the first time he saw more deeply into the problem. He sat that thought aside and regained his interested expression before Swindle noticed his reaction. He expected Swindle to try to impress him; he expected Swindle to brag about his cleverness; he expected Swindle to take him to berth.  He knew that soon Swindle would propose a partnership, and he would accept.

As dispassionately as he could, he looked at the situation on Cybertron.  So far, all former Autobots were carriers. Even the Temple priests identified carriers in their number, with the priesthood as a whole acting as their cohort. In all, Autobots composed about one tenth of the population. If he remembered correctly, about one in ten neutrals and one in twenty Decepticons were able to carry. It came to a little less than one carrier to every four non-carriers in Kaon now.  He had no idea how Iacon was handling the situation, but no Autobot in Kaon was going to find out anytime soon. 

Budding took a lot out of a mech. At this point, most carriers had between two or six offspring, spaced out, depending on how well they were able to handle budding. Silverbolt had six. The current understanding was that all the offspring would be able to carry, easing the situation. The oldest younglings would be able to breed in about five or six vorns.

Smokescreen knew that he must have some kind of protector, and in fact he believed the only one he could tolerate was Swindle. At the same time, he knew that Silverbolt and almost all the neutral or Decepticons filed contracts with their cohorts or partners at the Temple of Primus.  He wanted to look them over before he started haggling terms with Swindle.

Carriers could hold responsible positions. Bluestreak held one of the highest administrative offices as the Prime’s assistant; Silverbolt ran the sparkling centers that cared for and taught the offspring until they reached the ability to apprentice for training and became younglings; and Hoist headed medical administration with First Aid as one of the senior grade medics. In fact, carriers held about half of the higher level administrative posts- the ones with no danger or physical demands that might threaten their ability to carry and bud a sparkling to term safely.

Smokescreen wanted more. He wanted a full partnership, as good or better than Silverbolt’s. He observed Silverbolt and Starscream. Despite the Air Commanders manipulative ways, Silverbolt held his own most of the time. Smokescreen admired his stubborn grit, considering Starscream’s advantage in experience and ruthlessness. If that young flier could manage to keep Starscream somewhat in check, Smokescreen should be able to deal with Swindle.

Before their first sparkling was a vorn old, Smokescreen started to worry what would happen if  the relief they hoped for from the younglings failed to materialize. He heard the discussions between sires and unattached mechs, saw how some older mechs watched the younglings with assessing looks. He noticed that sires like Starscream and others made discreet arrangements for their younglings to meet and partner with the strongest mechs available.

But the younglings, while not showing the cruelty or violence of their elders, tended to show behavior more like their sires than their creators. He was disappointed, but not surprised, when the usual Decepticon ratio of carriers to sires seemed to apply to the new adults. 

Optimus Prime addressed the crowd again, bringing Smokescreen back to the present.

 “As all of us know, many of our partners have begun to encourage us to interface and carry for each other. I have discovered the reasons behind those proposals.”  Lord Megatron proposed that the Autobot carriers bud children by each other, to be raised as potential carriers with education in separate schools emphasizing support work and training in child care and household management. “As he is not making this a matter of policy, I am unable to stop him. I have discussed this matter with him, but to no effect.”

Murmurs ran between the creators. As they talked to each other, Smokescreen noticed a mist started to rise behind him. He looked around, and saw that while little of it seemed to be in the center, there was a steady progression coming in from the outside. He sniffed, but there was no odd smell. He lifted his voice. “Isn’t that trying to bet on long odds? What’s to say that offspring of two Autobots would be more likely to be carriers than offspring a Decepticons sired?”

First Aid spoke up. “That’s a good point. We know that the programming is not the issue. We know it’s there. We do not know why it isn’t being activated, because only the Oracle and the priests of Primus can answer that, and either they don’t know or they aren’t saying.”

“But our partners want to raise the sparklings we bud each other as carriers,” Silverbolt pointed out. “They seem to think that if younglings are raised and trained to care for the young as their first priority, then they will more readily activate their carrier programming once they mature.”

That idea percolated through the group as understanding dawned. Groove said, “We all know how bad it is for the Decepticons carriers until they form a cohort. Think of how vulnerable our sparklings would be!”

Silverbolt said, “In other words, if we go along with this and bud these sparklings, we’ll need our partners to protect them, and since these aren’t their offspring, they stand in perfect position to dictate terms.” His tone sounded grim. Then again, who would understand manipulation better than Starscream’s partner?

Streetwise said, “Have any of us sparked each other yet?" It seemed no one had, wary of the results. "Then we don't. Even if there was some clear hope of success, I'd hesitate, but this is just a desperate shot into the dark. If it doesn't work, where will that leave our offspring?" 

“Exactly,” Optimus said. “Megatron is not going to stop in his quest to increase our population as quickly as he can. If anyone can find alternate suggestions, please discuss them quietly and bring them to my attention- what is this stuff?”

The mist accelerated through the plain, engulfing them all. 

Smokescreen stumbled around in the dense fog. He knew something was wrong. He didn't care. Nothing mattered except  his fear of being alone and lost, and his need find another chassis to meet with his. His spark throbbed with heat and need, a deep craving that the fear fueled.

He searched frantically, but in the dense colorless nothingness around him he got only noise.

Until he stumbled into a dark shape in the fog, whose hands and field clutched at him with the same desperation. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Aftermath Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Soundwave sees what's going on, Megatron goes for Optimus, and Silverbolt reacts.

Soundwave, with Buzzsaw and Lasorbeak, slipped up to the meeting soon after it began. When the fog began, he sent them aloft to discover the cause. The Autobots seemed too absorbed in their discussion to notice. They came back reporting two mechs, a set of wind turbines, and two tanks. One tank, which looked new, emitted fog directed toward the meeting. The other tank looked old and corroded; when they turned  its valve, it fell off.

The two mechs tried to close it off only to tackle each other soon after; they rolled into the fog. Lasorbeak landed to seal the tank with his lasers as Buzzsaw turned off the turbines and followed to find the two mechs still and quiet. By this time the fog engulfed the area. Soundwave contacted Megatron with databurst of the situation and their coordinates before a raging need engulfed him and he began to look for company- any company-

Soundwave’s alarmed communication reached Megatron and launched him into the air even as he frantically contacted the Enforcement dispatchers and Barricade to get help to the site. His programming screamed at him to find and protect his Prime.

Those fools! He thought he made his position clear at those meetings, held quietly to avoid Optimus hearing of them.

In the first meeting, with Starscream, Flightspeed, Hook, Mixmaster, and Long Haul, Megatron began by stating that instead of all the new offspring becoming adults being carriers, most of them were sires only. As he expected, they already knew. “We also know, all of us, that our population is still critically low.” He listed all the suggestions Optimus Prime strictly forbade, which included assigning mates to particular mechs, requiring a quota from each carrier, giving each carrier a time limit and then requiring them to move to another partner. They grew more and more nervous as he spoke.

He wanted to know if the offspring of two former Autobots might be capable of carrying, and for this reason wanted them to encourage their carrying partners to carry for each other. He emphasized that they would be considered the sparkling’s sire legally, and expected to care for them as they did their own offspring.

He waited for the explosion. Instead, Starscream said, “And would we get some kind of concession in return, Lord Protector?” It took some time, but eventually he conceded to allow them a reduction in their tax until the sparkling became a youngling and started training for or took a position. He left marveling how cooperative they seemed, even Starscream.

He knew word would get to the Prime sooner or later, but this time he felt confident in his approach. He suggested no policy change, no requirements- he only made suggestions to his loyal followers, who could choose to follow through or not. The Prime listened and made it clear he disapproved, but there was not the force of command that stopped Megatron before. Unfortunately, the Decepticon partners reported back that so far not one of their partners sounded enthusiastic about the idea.

He told them that if one of them figured out a way to get a few to bear sparklings, he would forgive one year’s reconstruction tax for one person, with the time divided between however many mechs were involved. He specified the condition that the carriers budded safely with healthy, living offspring or there was no point to the whole exercise.

No long afterward, Mixmaster told him that two of his neutrals came to him with a chemical Shockwave experimented with. “It seems that Shockwave experimented with calming down prisoners in a cell block by using this gas,” Mixmaster said. In small doses, it acted as an aphrodisiac, though in large amounts it could kill.  “I’m going to try putting a small amount into some wax and seeing the results.” Not long afterward, he reported that a few of his neutrals raved about the end results. “I offered them a visit to Skywarp’s spa at my expense for trying it,” Mixmaster said, “and they asked for more of the wax instead.” Megatron was impressed. He enjoyed the spa, especially when he could talk Optimus into going with him. “And one of the neutrals was a carrier; he has two sparklings already, so he knew the risks and he’s carrying. ” Megatron told him to keep him posted on how the carrier did.

He contacted the Constructicon as he flew. “Mixmaster, where is the gas that you told me about?” and relayed Soundwave’s images. Mixmaster cursed.

 “I don’t even need to look, that was the tank and the neutral. What did they think they were doing? Why waste it like that?”

Megatron spotted the fog and cut the Constructicon off. He could see his Prime, head above the fog. He landed and waded through the fog to find and grab Optimus. As soon as he had his servos on Optimus, he took off again, determined to get his Prime to safety. He expected protest, demands to help others first, surprise and outrage at the very least.

Instead, Optimus clutched at him with a sigh of intense relief. His subsequent actions sent Megatron to ground not far from the fog, partly because he feared dropping Optimus and because his spark began to burn.

 Hot Spot’s rescue crew, brought by the frantic cassettes, found them recharging in exhaustion, and took the two leaders and Soundwave to Glit at the Temple of Primus for care while the Enforcers and medics hauled the carriers to infirmaries and medbays as fast as they could.  

Silverbolt came out of recharge slowly. He looked around, and while his surroundings were not exactly familiar, at least he knew where he was. But why was he in the main med bay with his chest throbbing like he’s just had one Pit of an overload or three? He looked around, seeing Hoist beside him. Talking, comming and shaking failed to wake the medic, who generally came awake easily. He looked around to see Streetwise, and that triggered his memory. He remembered going to the meeting, the discussion, the fog-

He scrambled to check his chronometer as the rest of that memory played out. The result brought him to his pedes. He lurched, grabbing the edge of the berth. When the room stabilized, he headed for the launch pad. He managed to get most of the way there before Boost, who was now a junior medic, caught up with him.

“We need to look you over,” the purple-eyed junior medic told him.  “We have no idea what happened out there.”

“Get out of my way,” Silverbolt told him, and kept going. There was no time to sit and let the medics fuss over him. When the launch pad came in sight, Boost got in front of him, and Silverbolt could hear others shouting behind them. With one swift move, he shoved Boost into the wall, made two strides, and leaped, transforming and heading for home as fast as he could. It took every ounce of concentration he could muster to stay focused in the air.

When budding started, several mechs tried to carry too often and became sick; Hoist and Glit prepared a formula showing how often a carrier could safely carry based on those incidents. Not long after, they found that one of Mixmaster’s high grades caused miscarriages, leading them to ban all high grades from carrying mechs. When Silverbolt budded his fourth sparkling, Soundwave and Glit had a discussion with Starscream while expecting Hoist to have the same discussion with Silverbolt.

Silverbolt told him bluntly what the problem was. "Starscream likes sparklings and he loves spark-merging. Most of the time I can keep my processor, but sometimes," he shrugged. Despite their frequent clashes, they still meshed very well in the berth. "

Instead, Hoist gave him the clear container with marks on the side and said, “Things happen. If the two of you get a little too enthusiastic too soon, drink this much, and nothing should come of it as long as you get it within a few joors. The spark doesn't form and the budding never starts. ” Silverbolt nodded. Not only did none of the carriers want to kill a developing sparkling, but a miscarriage endangered the carrier. “If Starscream gets suspicious, remind him that for some mechs it takes more than one try.” Silverbolt came back to refill the bottle a time or two. Most of the carriers saw Hoist or First Aid, so no one questioned his preference in medics. 

Right now he stood just within the limits of the effective time.  He spotted the corner tower of the Seeker base that he occupied with Starscream and their youngest offspring Jetwing, who worked as an apprentice with Hotlink and would soon be an adult. He transformed, landed on the roof, and headed for the storage room as fast as he could manage. He stumbled occasionally.  The container with the mixture sat with some of his cleaning materials. He reached the room, dug it out of its spot, and leaned against the wall for a moment, apologizing wordlessly to the sparkling who would never be.  

“Silverbolt! What’s wrong with you, leaving the medbay like that?” Starscream screeched, appearing at the door. “I was just on my way there when they told me you left.” He saw the container in Silverbolt’s servo. “What are you doing?” In the next astrosecond, Starscream slammed into him, jolting the shelves and dumping supplies everywhere. Silverbolt threw him across the room, but the effort dropped him to his knees. He got the lid off, but Starscream rolled and grabbed both Silverbolt’s arms, holding them out and pressing his own chassis against Silverbolt so that he could not get the container to his intakes without pushing Starscream away.

Silverbolt lurched to the side, spilling them to the floor, and twisted, trying to forced Starscream off of him by means of his greater size and weight, as his chronometer ticked off the astroseconds relentlessly. Starscream held on, but bit by bit Silverbolt weakened his hold.

Then a much larger set of servos, gripped his wrist and yanked the container away. Silverbolt screamed in frustration as Tronis pulled him up and held on to his arms. Starscream grabbed the container and sniffed. “High grade,” he said, puzzled and relived. “I thought it might be poison, the way he was acting. I appreciate your assistance, Enforcer Tronis, but who called you?”

Tronis said calmly, “Boost called for help from the med bay. Barricade asked me to come because I’m both trained and large enough to handle a carrier Silverbolt’s size without hurting them.” Silverbolt keened softly. “I believe it would be better for the medics to explain the situation, Wingleader. Both of my parents are at the Temple of Primus being tended and I would like to get back to them.”

“If you’ll give me a moment,” Starscream said, his tone tight but his words polite, “I’ve called for help.” Skywarp appeared with his partner Sweetwings. “There they are.”

“Did he drink anything?” Sweetwings demanded. In response, Starscream handed him the container. He snatched it and sipped. “Thank Primus, you got to him in time. Wingleader, we need to take Silverbolt back to the medbay, if you will please follow us as quickly as possible. Warp!” They were gone.

Starscream saw the enforcer off and headed for the medbay at full speed. What the Primus’ name happened to the carriers?

He found out when he reached the medbay and found Thundercracker and Flightspeed; Thundercracker sent him the data dump as soon as he landed. “We can’t even kill them,” Thundercracker added in disgust. “They died when they got a huge direct dose of the gas.”

“So you’re saying that each and every last one of our partners is probably sparked,” Starscream said, “by another partner?”

“Except the Prime, and he’s probably sparked by Megatron,” Flightspeed said grimly, “who got a dose of the stuff when he rescued the Prime. But that’s not the worst of all this mess. Even the sensible ones seem to be glitching. Bluestreak won’t talk to me, like I did something wrong!”

“Hoist tried to drink high grade, and he’s a medic, he knows what that does to a sparkling. If they don’t start screaming at their partners the moment they see them, they’re keening!” Thundercracker said, and vented. “They had to put Fireflight on suicide precautions."

“When I found Silverbolt, he was about to drink something,” Starscream said slowly. “I thought it was poison from the way he was acting, but when I smelled it, it was high grade.” He looked from Thundercracker to Flightspeed.

“Seeker Flightspeed, if you would come with me?” Sweetwings walked up to the three. “Winglord, Seeker Thundercracker, we’ll have to keep Silverbolt and Fireflight a little longer.”

“Can we see them?’ Thundercracker asked, subdued. After some discussion, she agreed to let them stay with their partners as long as the carriers stayed calm. The three followed her. Silverbolt’s room was closest. He lay still and quiet on the berth, curled inward the way he always did when he was carrying, with his optics closed. He reminded Starscream sharply of the war and lost battles.

In another room, he heard Fireflight wail, “You don’t understand.” Silverbolt stirred and opened his optics. “I didn’t have time to stop him, and how can I let him go to the Well alone?”

Silverbolt closed his optics and curled up tighter. Keens broke from him. In all their time together, Silverbolt never broke down in front of him, and the sound twisted Starscream’s spark. The Winglord hurried over. “’Bolt,” he said softly, and extended his field.

The keens stopped. Silverbolt pushed up and wobbled. Starscream reached out. Silverbolt struck his servo away. “What do you want?” he snarled, but gave Starscream no chance to respond. “Wait, you got what you wanted, didn’t you? When none of us wanted to give you your little hostages, you found a way.” Rage and hate flared in his field and Starscream recoiled.

“We knew nothing of this,” he began. Boost came to the door with a cube in his hand, but neither of them saw him.

“But it suits you, doesn’t it? That just when our youngest is getting independent, I’m carrying again? And this time, you can dictate terms and keep me in line like never before, because otherwise you have no reason to protect him.”

That hurt. “I’d never abandon a sparkling, and you know it,” he shouted. “You’re the one who tried to kill him!”

Silverbolt keened. “Stop it,” he said. “I wanted to stop the budding before it settled, but it’s too late now. "  His voice sank, and he went on, so softly that Starscream could barely hear him, “What if they’re just like their older siblings?  This was all about getting new carriers, what if they can’t carry? What then?”

Starscream groped for something to say when an announcement came over the med bay’s infirmary, “Will all Decepticons partners now come to the central waiting room.” The Winglord muttered something and left the room as fast as he could.

 Boost came in with the cube and coaxed Silverbolt to drink it. Not long afterward, he fell into recharge. When he woke, Jetwing sat beside him. “How are you feeling, Creator?” he asked softly. Silverbolt just shrugged. “I’ve heard the talk going around.” He hesitated. “I was taking care of Groove’s youngest,” he said softly, “as a favor. You know his youngest is a grounder?” Silverbolt nodded. “He told me about how he went to the same school the Seeker sparklings did, until Groove found out how they treated him and got him transferred.”  Silverbolt lifted his head and looked at him. “That’s what bothers you, isn’t it? You’re worried about a grounder growing up with fliers.”

That was part of the problem- the smallest part, but a concern, nevertheless. “Your sire and I raised some perceptive offspring,” Silverbolt said wryly.

Jetwing drew in air. “Creator- Hotlink and Bitstream talked to me not long ago. They offered me a place in their cohort. Groove agreed. I know Sire won’t like it, but I’m going to accept.”

“If this is what you want, tell your Sire to jump in a smelter and do what makes you happy,” Silverbolt told him. He saw this coming a long time ago, so his response required no thought.

Jetwing hesitated, his field wavering between apprehension and determination. Finally, he blurted out, “Hotlink said- he said that if we needed- it would be okay for me to bring the sparkling with me. I asked, because he’ll be my brother, and we’ll have to take care of Groove’s sparkling anyway.”

Silverbolt processed the offer as Jetwing’s field spiked with anxiety. His depression over the whole mess eased a little. Jetwing wanted to help, and he saw the new sparkling as a brother. He felt certain that Hotwing accepted because there was some kind of reward that came with fostering the new sparklings, but knowing there was a viable option helped. “My sparkling’s grown up,” he said softly, and Jetfire’s field smoothed into mixed embarrassment and pleasure.

When Sweetwings came by, he said, “You look a lot better. We think that mist had a really bad aftereffect on most of the carriers, but it looks like you’re over it. I contacted to Winglord to get an escort back home, and you should take it easy for the rest of the day. And here,” she sent a data dump. “This is the transmission Lord Megatron sent to the partners. Look at it when you get home, I think you’ll approve. “

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be several aftermath chapters which will end this story, which will be followed by Dance of Sparks.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Hoist muses sadly on lost chances, Powerglide takes a giant step.

Long Haul looked over the orn’s work as the first shift put up their tools. Satisfied with their progress, he sent out a dismissal com and a reminder, “We all head out for Vos in a few orns. Don’t forget to make arrangements.”

He heard a few groans and sympathized. With the public areas of Kaon rebuilt, Vos needed rebuilding, and they did their work tax there. Long Haul’s attitude changed, depending on the situation. Sometimes, when the sparklings got on his last diode, he welcomed the change of pace. By the time he came back, normally the situation settled itself.

He transformed and headed for the compound, taking his time. Back when the offspring were still sparklings, he came home to an apartment ringing with noise and life. Hoist had the energon ready, with the sparklings either working on schoolwork or playing. Hoist insisted on spacing them somewhat, so that the youngest was old enough for school before he started another.

He pinged the gate and came through, transforming as he reached their part of the compound. He found Hoist standing in the door of the sparkling’s room, just staring in, his optics looking blindingly as Primus knew what went on in his processor. It bothered Long Haul to see him like that. He kept remembering Blaster. “Hoist?” he said. Hoist looked at him. “Did you get your energon yet?” His partner shook his head. “Come on. I’ll get both of us one. Why don’t you pull up the holovid and we can see if there’s anything interesting going on?”

Hoist agreed and headed for the central space. Long Haul mixed his energon with the additives he needed and a few of the flavorings he liked and took it over to him before he mixed his own. Hoist sipped at about half of it as they listened to the day’s announcements. Included was one asking that any sparked carrier from the mist incident register the sire of their imminent sparklings. Long Haul looked at Hoist when he saw that. “Well,” he started, “since you have to register it anyway, how about telling me who it was?”

”Bluestreak,” he admitted, and put his cube down.

Long Haul knelt in front of his partner. “Hey, finish that and we can go to the washracks. I’ll give you a nice polish.” Hoist agreed. Long Haul pulled him up, hoping the cherishing would help a little.

As the offspring aged, the Constructicons rebuilt an old barracks and let the younglings move there when they were ready, close enough to the parents to visit and keep an optic out, but separate enough to give them some space. Their youngest moved out a vorn ago, and ever since Long Haul noticed Hoist beginning to get more and more distant. He flatly refused to start another youngling. “I need some time,” he said. “Let my chassis recover. Unless you’re ready to be the main caretaker?”

“I have work tax,” Long Haul said stiffly.

“I’m sure they can use a medic on-site at Vos,” Hoist said.

Over my deactivated chassis, Long Haul thought, remembering how longing optics of his work crew followed Hoist on the rare occasions when he came to the work sites. He knew they would never bother Hoist because they knew who he partnered, but the idea of Hoist being out there without his protection made his engines pick up. 

When he met his gestalt-mates for a cube in one of Mixmaster’s quieter places, he discovered most of them worried, too. The one exception was Scavenger; First Aid’s youngest just started school. While the number of sparklings heading for school stayed the same, more of them came from cohorts with Decepticon or neutral carriers. The youngest Autobot carried sparkling was Groove’s, and Groove still worked a lot with troubled Decepticon carriers at the Temple of Primus and had access to the school there if he chose.

When the news spread about the younglings, all of them shared their mixed feelings. On the one servo, it opened up the problems about so few carriers compared to sires. On the other, it meant few of their younglings needed to deal with the problems carriers did. For a time the talk went to how Sweetwings, Bluestreak’s little Seeker, started running Skywarp’s life the moment they became partners and how he seemed to enjoy it. Long Haul kept quiet about his own worry. His own Boost kept his carrier status quiet until he and Hook’s oldest Lift slipped off to the Temple and partnered. The older Decepticons bitched and whined, but all the Constructicons stood together to back them.  In Long Haul’s opinion, that was problem solved since they lived in the compound and worked within their sire’s businesses.

The partners discussed the possibility that those in single partnership with a Autobot carrier might be asked to form gestalts or release their partners to make other choices. Long Haul’s spark clenched when he thought about losing Hoist. He disliked the idea of sharing him, but every once in a while he got a cautious offer. Some of them he considered for a time. Sharing was better than losing, he decided, when he got the notice to go to a meeting.

So when Megatron met with the partners and made his proposal, his suggestion sounded like a lifeline. Instead of sharing their partners, they were asked to foster a sparkling of their carrier. Thinking back, he respected Starscream for squeezing some benefits out of the Lord Protector. Everyone knew how hard a time Silverbolt gave Starscream before he agreed to partner, and how he held his own with the manipulative Winglord. If any partner worried about his carrier moving on, Starscream had to be on the top of the list, with Long Haul and Flightspeed right behind him. All of their carriers worked at high positions that brought in good credits; they could support themselves decently.  Many carriers worked with their partners, or worked positions that paid much less than the partner’s.

But they didn’t want it to happen like this, Long Haul thought as he headed home. Granted, none of them seemed enthusiastic about the idea, but he knew Hoist was thinking about it. There was no excuse for them being drugged, forced into clanging chests with anymech close to them.

Later that evening, as Long Haul recharged, Hoist got up and went to look into the sparkling room again, and thought about all the hopes and plans the mist destroyed. Long Haul knew something was wrong, and Primus bless him, he was trying to help.   

Long Haul and the other partners swore up and down that they had nothing to do with the mist incident, as it was officially called now. Hoist doubted that Long Haul was involved, but figured some Decepticon was. At this point, it hardly mattered. What mattered is how it destroyed some tentative plans.

Some of the carriers talked already. Hoist and Grapple worked out a plan he hoped to propose at the meeting. Essentially, they wanted to leave their partners, move into an area of their own, and start fighting for their freedom again. Bluestreak found out about the meeting Flightspeed was to attend. The area had security cameras; Bluestreak had a word with Streetwise. Steetwise found the camera turned off, turned it on, and watched, so they knew about the proposal, including the proposed schools.

If they banded together, in the admin area near the government offices, he thought they stood a good chance of success. They could watch each other’s backs, if Optimus could back them, and raise the new sparklings knowing that they were more than just a chassis to bear sparklings, but strong independent mechs. They would bud each other’s sparklings, on their own terms, and start shoving back against this culture of partners and potential sires “protecting”- meaning controlling- the carriers. That plan evaporated with the mist. Now they had to depend on their partners to protect the new sparklings, leaving them in a worse position than before.

“Hoist.” Long Haul came up. “Hoist, please, you have to do something about this pit you’re in. Tell me what I can do. I don’t want you to die like Blaster.” His engines hitched.

“Blaster lost a symbiote,” Hoist reminded, him, touched just the same. “His chassis tried to bud and split spark at the same time. It’s not the same.” A keen wrenched from him. “But it’s not the same as our sparklings, it’s not-“

“Legally he’s ours,” Long Haul assured him. “You know I’ll take care of him.”

Hoist’s offspring said the same. “We’ll protect him, Creator,” they said. “We’ll make sure he has choices. We understand.” They did, to a point, and that helped a little. But when the time came, how much choice would this society give him?

TRTR

Powerglide slipped out of the building and made his way to the gate. The Coneheads were in a meeting, and they thought he was still unable to fly due to an injured wing. It was likely to be his only chance to get away.

He had to get away. He had to get back to the Temple. Not just for his own safety-by this time he began to fear for his life- but for the others. If the Coneheads kept getting away with how they treated him, other partners might try the same, and Powerglide suspected that his youngest might be a carrier.

He was one of the few Autobot carriers not to go to the meeting. Groove and First Aid let him know, but he could not get away from his partners.  He wondered if this once they regretted that, as they wanted him carrying. 

When he first came to Cybertron, Powerglide chaffed under the restrictions he and the Aerialbots endured under the Seekers. Granted, matters were better than he thought they would be, but they got regular fuel, decent shelter, and worked no longer than the Decepticons who supervised them. But the constant lessons in Seeker culture irritated him. He was no youngling, and he had no interest in dealing with Seekers any more than he had to.

His run-in with the Empties changed his processor. The moment they saw him, they started throwing rocks, and one got in a lucky hit, forcing him down.  They wanted one thing-energon. He had plenty of it, and they attacked the moment they could get to him, trying to get to it.

Dirge, Thrust and Ramjet got them off and got him to the medbay. When he was ready to head back to his quarters, he woke with flashbacks. Dirge came in to calm him, and in the course of the calming interfaced with him carefully and gently. The trine took turns staying with him in the evenings. Agreeing to partner with the trine felt inevitable.

For a time, Powerglide possessed no wish at all to go anywhere alone. He worked, as everyone must, until he started to carry and was grounded. Then his responsibilities changed. Dirge, Thrust and Ramjet began a small business making private deliveries. Powerglide handled orders and kept the books. As the business grew, they took the option of the work tax.

The work tax began shortly after the credit system began. As Kaon grew and thrived, and the neutrals became integrated, the need for constant work by every mech eased. Swindle proposed allowing mechs who chose to work at their own business to pay a tax instead. The administration used to money to pay employ mechs to work on rebuilding full time. Everyone still worked a part of the year in the rebuilding.

The administration excused carriers with sparklings. Those who were between sparklings but worked for a business often handled administrative or supply for the sites where their partners were assigned. Many carriers held administrative positions, which were exempt from work tax as part of their pay.

Powerglide carried his sparklings too close together, with a slow recovery from the third budding.  As he lay in the infirmary with little Glide, one of the neutral medics learning the job recognized the problem as flashbacks. His concern was dismissed, Glit pointing out impatiently that many carriers suffered temporary problems that resolved after budding, and nothing more was done. Hoist met with Powerglide and told him bluntly that budding another sparkling too soon would kill or weaken his spark permanently, and gave him a container with instructions.

The sparklings grew and began visiting their friends, and they talked about how their friend’s carriers went to the Archives alone, shopped for household needs alone, and met with other carriers in central Kaon. Slowly, Powerglide realized just how isolated he was. When Glide visited one of his friends in the Construction complex, he got up the struts to fetch the sparkling alone. When they came home, Powerglide felt fine. He continued to make small trips to areas not far from work and home. He talked to other carriers.

He talked to First Aid. First Aid saw the problem for what it was, and told him that his brother, Streetwise told him that there were no longer any Empties any closer to Kaon than Vos. After that, every carrier he came across began to invite him to go to the Archives with them, invited him to parties for the sparklings, and urged him to get out. His sparklings liked it when he started acting like the carriers of their friends. Eventually, the three sparklings, one by one, reached younglinghood and left school. None of them chose to work with their sires. One became an architect training with Grapple, with another working with Hook as an engineer. Glide joined a Seeker squad that worked with the Enforcers.

The Coneheads did not like that at all.  They told Powerglide he needed their protection, that he needed to stay at home or the office. They scolded the sparklings harshly for endangering their creator by encouraging his trips. Powerglide and the offspring all joined in a quiet alliance. Powerglide continued his trips, and they all kept silent.

Several orns before Glide reached his younglinghood, Powerglide’s container ran out. As he carried, the flashbacks began again. The Coneheads showered him with attention and escorted him everywhere.

This time First Aid helped him bud, gave him a larger container, and gave him some sensible advice. “Get help.” He told Powerglide about Groove’s work with the Temple and the help available there for mechs after traumatic experiences, and arranged for Powerglide to visit the Temple. Dirge cancelled the appointment and lodged a complaint against First Aid for intervening between partners.

Instead Groove, with his own new sparkling Peace, came to see Powerglide bringing his sparkling for play dates. He listened, and talked casually about how own terrible experience. He also dropped a word to Bluestreak. Not long after Straighline began going to school, all of the Coneheads received an assignment where they worked in Vos for two orns out of every decaorn. On those orns, Powerglide went to the Temple with Groove.

 Straighline got his first position working with the administration a decaorn before the container First Aid supplied him gave out. Powerglide overheard his partners planning to interface with him nightly until they knew he was carrying again.

He gulped a cube and took off.  

He made it to the Temple road before the angry coms reached him, but just as the Temple came in sight he knew they were behind him. In desperation, he called, “Skydive! I need help, please, they’re following me, they’ll drag me back and get me sparked up again.”

“Powerglide?” Skydive sounded startled. “What- Never mind, are they trying to force you down?”

“No, but I have to land sometime and all of them are here!”

“Can you get to the steps?”

“I think so.”

“I’ll have some help there. Land behind them and come in the door. Don’t wait, don’t talk to them, just come in. Hear me?”

“Yes!” The Temple was just ahead. He twisted in midair, stalled, and transformed to land on his pedes behind the priests who stood on the steps as above him the Coneheads shot past. He was inside the door before they managed to circle around.

A priest came up to him. “Come this way,” he said, and moved at a brisk pace, leading Powerglide around the chapels and through a door. “Priest Skydive, here is the flyer seeking sanctuary.”

Powerglide saw Skydive come up, and marveled at how he changed. The young flyer looked older and quietly confident. “Powerglide,” he said, “come on back. I’ve got a cube waiting for you, and you can tell me what this is all about.”

Powerglide walked behind him to an office barely big enough for both of them, but the desk held two glowing cubes. Powerglide drank gratefully and gave out a tired vent. As he did, the priest working with him appeared. “Are you ready now to end this toxic partnership?” the priest asked.

Powerglide drew in a deep vent. He knew the risks. He was the first carrier to ask that the partnership be dissolved. He blessed Primus that none of his offspring chose to work with their sires, because he knew their business would suffer terribly from this move, but he also knew he had no choice. “Yes,” he said firmly.

Skydive said wryly, “And now, folks, the waste product is about to interact with the air recycling center.” Despite his agreement, Powerglide hissed with amusement at the paraphrase of a human saying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think-maybe- there will only be one more chapter, but the muse has fooled me before.


	15. Final Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus mourns and Smokescreen delivers

For some time after he woke and found he lay in the Temple infirmary with Megatron hovering anxiously over him, Optimus lay on his medical berth and mourned. Megatron stayed close.

Hot Spot and his team brought them to the Temple because they found the two of them recharging heavily away from the residue of the mist and they believed that they received a smaller dose of the drug.

Optimus knew he carried again. Megatron offered his port, which Optimus accepted. Reluctantly, the Prime acknowledged that the neutrals acted on their own, without Megatron’s knowledge and against his specifications. He knew Megatron had no intention of having almost every carrier budding at the same time. Carriers worked, many in administration, and loss of their labor during budding and for a time afterward was going to cause huge problems.   “Nevertheless, your actions led to this situation,” Optimus told him. “There will be a large influx of sparklings who need protection, Lord Protector. “

Megatron outlined his original provisions, which Optimus already knew. “I will announce that these are in effect immediately,” he said, and left. Optimus waited until he was gone before he asked for Skydive. “I need to speak to Obsidian and Elita-One,” he said. “Can arrangements be made?”

In the private sanctum of the Highest Priest of Primus, Optimus made his report to Elita-One and Obsidian. “We’ll investigate on this end,” Elita-One told him.

Obsidian said, “I agree that it is better not to take chances. Our information is that Rodimus Prime and his allies are keeping the Quintessions at something of a stalemate, but I would put nothing past those evil glitches.”

“But it is far more likely that those neutrals were stupid and greedy,” Elita-One told him. She and Obsidian updated Optimus on Iacon’s rebuilding and the situations at the mines, which were working well.

Then Optimus went to the chapel to commune.  

After Optimus budded Megatronis, he carried one other time, which ended in early budding. Communing with the presence, Optimus knew that Tronis beat extremely long odds in surviving to bud safely; he would bud no other living sparklings. This time, he left the chapel knowing this budding wound end as all but Megatronis did, but knowing that the spark would be welcomed back to the Well. In addition, he learned why some were carriers, and knew that he must find another way to protect the new ones conceived. He also knew that one of the sparklings conceived was a potential Prime spark.

As he headed toward his berth to await the inevitable, he heard the sounds of shouting.

TRTR

Tronis headed out to see his creator, worried. He spoke with Hot Spot. His team found the his creator and sire the most distance from the mist, but clearly they did a full interface.  Soundwave was not far from them. Hot Spot and his team took all of them to the Temple. 

He remembered when he was a sparkling and being excited that he, like the other sparklings, would get a sibling. He remembered how his creator suffered from the early, unsuccessful budding, and how his sire worried over his Prime and partner. When he went to see his creator, he overheard a conversation.

“We were lucky with Tronis,” his creator said, sounding tired. “There will be no more, Megatron. I cannot sustain both the Matrix and a budding. He will be my only offspring.”

“Unfortunate,” his sire said. “But my Prime is more important than offspring. “

“I will have no more, but the Lord Protector is not so limited. I will release you. There are others.”

There was a pause. “Are you asking?”

“Offering. You have choices. We can dissolve and allow you to choose another partner, or to bring in a third. Decepticon carriers would be proud to bud your offspring, including Strika and Obsidian.”

“No,” Megatron said sharply, then softened his vocalizer. “I do not wish to lose my partner or my Prime. We have one fine sparkling together. I am satisfied.”

He remembered how Vortex died from an early budding. He helped get all the carriers in to the various med-bays. Then, just as he jumped in the air to head for the Temple, Barricade called. Silverbolt left for home from the main medbay after shoving off Boost, one of the larger medics. Tronis was one of the few large enough to challenge him. Tronis cursed the dead idiots who started this whole mess and headed for the Seeker compound.

He found Starscream striving to keep Silverbolt from drinking something. He yanked away the container and set it aside before he pulled Silverbolt back up. The large flyer stopped fighting as Tronis held him and talked to Starscream. Fortunately, Sweetwings arrived with Skywarp to take Silverbolt back to the med-bay.

So his worry over his creator’s danger warred with his shock over Silverbolt’s behavior. He knew high-grade triggered early budding. Silverbolt ran the centers that handled early sparkling care. Tronis remembered all of the sparklings loved him, how he meted out punishment that fit the infraction, and how he fostered several sparklings of Obsidian and Strika before they founded similar centers in Iacon. So why would Silverbolt fight so desperately to end his budding, at the risk of his own existence?

He contacted Sweetwings at the med-bay to ask about Silverbolt. She told him that Hoist tried to do the same, with several of the carriers on suicide watch as well. She believed it was the aftereffect of the drug. He felt better.

He arrived to find the Coneheads arguing fiercely with Temple priests at the front gate. He circled around and pinged one of the priests he used to work with when investigating carrier abuse. Soon after Priest Sunrise hurried out and let him in. “Your sire is using our communications room to talk to the Decepticon partners,” he said, “and your carrier is in the chapel.”

“Shouldn’t he be in the berth?”

“He’s better seeking what comfort he can,” Sunrise told him heavily. “Now come on and help me out. Powerglide came in asking for sanctuary and to dissolve his partnership with the Coneheads. “

“What?” He remembered that First Aid talked to Streetwise about Powerglide, but First Aid admitted he saw no signs of physical abuse on Powerglide, but that they refused to let him get help for some processor issues. Instead of opening a formal investigation, he talked to Groove. The Coneheads saw nothing wrong with other carriers visiting Powerglide on his orns off, especially with other Seeker offspring. He forgot about the matter.

“I’ve been seeing him, and trying to get him to take this step.” He hissed. “I’ve talked to some others about the Coneheads. You remember how we had some of the Decepticon carriers told that it’s a carrier’s place to submit and bear sparklings? I don’t know where it started, but those Coneheads bragged about how they kept their carrier in his place.”

Tronis stopped. “They’re actually saying that out there now?”

“No, they aren’t that stupid. They are saying that we have no right to come between partners, that they have not abused Powerglide in any way, and that he belongs with them.”

“We’ve got to get to them before my creator hears about this,” Tronis said with dismay, remembering that strong emotions could affect a carrying mech and ran.  As he ran, he called Barricade, who promised to send out a squad of Enforcement flyers. He reached the lobby just as his sire did.  

“Enough!” Megatron barked, and the room fell silent. “Thrust, tell me what this is about.”

“These mechs are coming between us and our carrier!” the Conehead shouted. Megatron frowned, and he lowered his vocalizer. “Powerglide has always relied on us for protection and support. He knew better than to go anywhere without our protection. Then other carriers whose partners had no control over them kept telling him that was wrong, to get out, that we were abusing him. We never hurt him, never hurt our sparklings!” He ranted on.

Megatronis heard quiet footsteps and turned to see his creator come up. He hurried to him. “Creator,” he said very quietly, but Optimus shook his head and motioned for silence as Thrust got quiet.

“There are more ways than one to abuse a partner,” Priest Sunrise said in a calm and reasonable voice. “Keeping a partner confined to the base or the workplace, preventing him from having outside contact, and forcing one to carry without consulting his wishes in the matter are all forms of abuse. Not allowing a carrier to seek care for processor issues, so that a partner can use that fear to keep him under control, is a form of abuse. These partners have used all these methods to keep Powerglide under their control.”  

“Bring Powerglide here,” Megatron said. Sunrise left and returned with Powerglide. The Coneheads started to shout again but quieted with one icy glare from Megatron. “Powerglide, explain the reason for this visit to the Temple of Primus.”

“I came because I overhead my partners saying that they were going to interface with me every evening until I was carrying again,” he said. “I used to be afraid to be anywhere alone, but when First Aid tried to get me help, they stopped me from going.” He vented deeply. “I want to fly free again. I want to choose when I carry. I want to find work outside of my home base.” He looked straight at his partners. “I am not your possession.”

“We never said you were,” Ramjet said, “but you know how much you need us to protect you, Powerglide. Haven’t we always taken care of you?  You kept your place until that First Aid started talking against us, giving you ideas- “

“Stop,” Optimus Prime said, and stepped forward. The Coneheads quieted. “Please explain what you mean by a carrier’s place.” They sent appealing looks to Megatron. Optimus looked at his Lord Protector. Megatronis got a message from the leader of the Enforcer squadron that they were outside. He quietly told a priest, who headed out of the room.

“I have no idea what they are talking about,” Megatron told him.

“But you always said that we need more servos to do the work of rebuilding! How can we get more servos if the carriers don’t bud? It’s their duty to stay in the home where they are safe, where they can bud and take care of the sparklings!”  Dirge snarled. “Those neutrals had the right idea, getting all the carriers sparked at once since their partners can’t handle them!”

Optimus stepped up and the Coneheeads quieted, but their fields showed their defiance.  “I have discovered that the reason mechs are capable of carrying. In addition to the programming, a spark must be able to accept a charge during overload and spark merge to create a new spark, which in turn triggers budding. Therefore, the idea that carriers belong in a certain place is an abomination against Primus." The priests nodded in agreement. "Thrust, Dirge, Ramjet, hear me now. This partnership is dissolved.” The Coneheads started shouting again. “Enough!” Tronis heard the power in his carrier’s voice. The Coneheads cringed. Even the priests flinched back. “Furthermore, all of you, as individuals or as a trine, are barred from taking a carrier partner again. You are banished from Kaon for two vorns, with the place of your punishment to be decided by the Lord Protector.”

The priests brought in the squad, who took the stunned Coneheads into custody. Another led a shaken Powerglide away. Optimus turned to the Lord Protector. “Before they go, ask Soundwave to interview them. We must see how far this rot has spread. Moreover, I want to see the official report and want it published once I approve it. ”

Then he arched back and cried out in pain.

TRTR

Swindle looked down at the sparkling curled on Smokescreen’s chassis. Both the sparkling and the carrier lay in deep recharge. 

His spark throbbed in rage and betrayal. Smokescreen swore up and down, keening, that he did not know who sired his sparkling. But the sparkling’s optics were a deep reddish purple, and the coloring was deep blue and purple. Swindle knew who the sire was, and he had no intention at all of letting Soundwave anywhere near him, this sparkling, or Smokescreen.

He contacted several neutrals with certain skills that owed him a lot of credits. There was a way to change the color of the optics, and a way to keep  Smokescreen quiet. He had no intention of losing Smokescreen the way the Coneheads lost Powerglide.

He waited until the specialists arrived, and gave his orders.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of Maze of Sparks. The story line will pick up with Dance of Sparks, when I have time to work on it.


End file.
